Fidelis ad Mortem Astraque: Elementum
by LegionN7
Summary: Prologue book to the adventures of Matt Shepard, a Colonist/War Hero Infiltrator with a very peculiar set of skills. COMPLETED. If you have finished reading this, please continue on to Fidelis ad Mortem Astraque: Heros Gnascori. Reads and reviews are encouraged strongly.
1. Elementum

**A/N: This is my first attempt at a 'serious' fic. This prologue is meant to be wistful, tense, and tragic. POV **_**will shift**_** from expository and narrative to first person quite a bit; I assume you the reader will be intelligent enough to figure out when :). I didn't add as much humor as I would have, I figured the backstory of a Colonist Shepard would be more about the doom and gloom that started him on his path of military excellence. The rest of this fic will include Shepard's training, and War Hero backstory. **

**UPDATE: With the awesome suggestions of Aeternix, KendokaGirl, mwalkerswirly89, RamenKnight I have redone this chapter so its less "full of suck" and more of "holy **** that doesn't suck!"**

**Disclaimer: Locations, recognizable characters, and universe owned by Bioware/EA **

Mindoir: Home.

The Shepard homestead- spanning the vegetable fields and animal paddies to the south, the gently rolling knolls on Sybar's Prairie in the west. A babbling creek in the north, flowing surely through the wood, bringing the native aquatic species for sport and food. This was comfort, security, adventure, fellowship, love; occasionally it was anger, strife, worry. But above all else, this was _home._

Most of the Systems Alliance colony of Mindoir is farmland; the soil of the garden world optimized for large-scale production of levo-amino foodstuffs. Initial surveyors, following faint traces of Prothean artifacts, deduced that this was likely due to the agricultural prowess of the bygone race.

Mindoir was located in the Attican Traverse, a region of space perilously close to the near-lawless Terminus Systems, a haven for lowlifes of the galactic community. The dearth of garden worlds with as many exploitable resources meant that humanity claiming Mindoir was inevitable, even with the inherent danger, poised like a guillotine- or perhaps a roulette wheel.

Matt Shepard, son of Gayle and Charles Shepard, was born on-planet in 2154, and took fast to the rugged colonist life. It was obvious even while he was growing that he would become a leader, perhaps in the Alliance government, or even the Citadel government itself. Other children found themselves following him, in simple things such as play, to more ambitious projects on equipment and pet projects. His closest friends virtually never questioned him if he decided to lead.

As he grew, his political and martial acumen were honed and flexed.

His was a religious family, and when he was Baptized into the Catholic Church, his mother would swear until her death that she had heard the voice of God saying "He will grow to do great deeds". He was Confirmed in 2169.

He had a knack for hunting and tracking, as well as talent for programming, always fiddling with his omnitool and the family's colonist-issue weapons. He was especially fond of the sniper rifle, though he was quite adroit with the pistol and shotgun.

He was very good at becoming invisible, hiding in plain sight, or even sneaking up on people for a laugh.

He worked the family farm, not quite content with his lot, but several avenues of advancement were closed to him until he had some money to his name. The Alliance military preferred colonists stay for at least three generations, and most corporations that could make use of his skills could hire merc labor for cheaper. While his family had a good lock on the production of cereal grains and stewing vegetables, it wasn't enough to make a big enough ripple in the pond.

Then in 2170, Matt Shepard's life would advance him in one of the strangest ways...

It was almost planting season on the arable continent, the thaw was retreating and the wildlife was emerging. I was taking some time to cull a herd of space cows that had expanded during the cold season. Jess had come along with me, my beautiful girlfriend. After a few klicks of stalking the woods, silent but for the rustling of fabric, we saw the herd.

"Hey, wanna bet I can nail that Space Cow from here?" I plastered my cocky grin on, and slowly went prone on the overlook.

"You showoff!" Jess Kennedy, longtime friend and lover, who was a conveniently skilled spotter, rolled her eyes, but nonetheless brought up the spotting scope. "Settling into a feeding pattern, 213 meters with a 12 degree down angle".

Making the adjustments, I centered the post sight on the head of the space cow, assumed an old Russian sniper pose- right leg slightly bent to engage the adductor magnus muscle- and slipped into shooting state.

I do not necessarily have multiple personalities, though I am able to slip into several subconscious archetypes. There's the Officer, cold, calculating, efficient, fearless. He gives orders and expects obedience. Attaining the rank of Eagle Scout through the Mindoir chapter of the Alliance Youth Scouts helped develop this. The Sniper, a shell of logic and calculation that cared only that it's target died- for food, protection, or money. I say 'it', because when the Sniper is in control, there is very little humanity evident. The Scholar, able to obsess over any topic until I know it intimately and can deliver a professor-grade discourse, such as those times in school when I had to give a report on an old civilization, or a particular technology. The Diplomat, a paragon of intrigue and manipulation, able to squeeze somebody for help, aid, or support.

There were more types, but I would discover them later.

The Sniper took over, both eyes still open, right eye down the scope, left eye buried in an occluder. I felt esoteric adjustments to the gun come of their own accord, minor changes in hold and heft that a shooter experiences, but can rarely explain. The spot-weld of the rifle to my cheek felt natural, and the space cow was reduced to a Target... and with one measured finger-squeeze, a diamond blade took a chip, no bigger than a grain of sand, from a steel hunting block, then fed the grain into a mass effect chamber. Once there, a surge through the element zero core caused the mass of the grain to drop to miniscule levels, and a chain of high-grade magnets received power. The grain, powered by the Lorentz force caused by the magnet chain, sped down the barrel and exited at hypervelocity, its mass reverting and heightening, but still holding a constant velocity. The reactive recoil was diminished as a secondary pulse of the mass effect core increased the mass of the mercury cushion behind the free-floated barrel. By the time the space cow could understand the noise, it was snuffed.

As the Sniper left, I was once again 'normal'. "Well then, was that good enough a show for you?" I joked.

Jess just laughed, a sound I likened to a melodious flute. "That's one less problem. He _did _look shifty..."

Collapsing the rifle into standby, I half-snarked, "Then perhaps we can loot him for credits."

As we were about to head back with the dressed meat, the whine of an atmospheric craft became apparent.

"Look at that! I didn't think we had any of those out here!" Jess observed. I reached for the spotting scope, and the Scholar absorbed the details: modular body, guns mounted on the nose, rockets on the wings, alien markings...

"Its the new A-61 Mantis gunships!" I exclaimed. I'd heard of them over the extranet, they were just seeing service in the field, and seen attached to mercenary groups...

I stood there, shocked that any merc group with the funding for the new gunships would drop by this backrocket world. Using the scope again, I checked the cockpit of one of the ships, and what I saw froze my blood.

A being with four eyes, a wrinkled cranium, and sharp teeth.

Batarians.

The rockets weren't high explosive either, they were anti-riot types, which could only mean one thing: slavers had come to Mindoir.

Grabbing Jess' hand, I lit up my omnitool, trying to reach home. Nothing. I then attempted contact with several friends, whom I knew were usually free about this time, their farm chores generally done an hour back. I managed to get a hold of some of my closer buddies, and arranged a rendezvous. Al, the crazy engineer wannabe, and Mike, a a sentinel apprentice. But first, we made for the homestead. It took twenty agonizing minutes to backtrack, tramping through wooded areas and avoiding the debilitating Waspflower and Sharkfern stands.

Finally pausing at the near creek, I engaged the rifle, again looked down my scope, anger rising up like a harpy. Four batarians had my family in the yard, on their knees. My father was shouting at them, trying to distract them from my mother and two sisters. As their leader looked away, my father drew his sidearm that he had concealed, but the other batarians were too fast. Drawing assault rifles, they sprayed killing fire into the bodies of my family. Shocked for a moment, the Sniper pushed aside emotion... and took down the first gunner. Down went the second, but rage had displaced the calm, and that second shot caused an overheat. The remaining two started pouring fire our way, and we were forced to retreat or die in vain.

Through scrub and bush we ran, fleeing swiftly, away from the callous murderers. Bitterly, the Officer noted that my mother and sisters were spared a life of unwilling promiscuity, and my father would not be cannon fodder or a miner.

But never again would I be able to canoe or kayak with my sisters, teach them how to take advantage of nature's gifts.

Never again would I hug my mother or shake my fathers hand, resolve an argument, or propose an idea.

Never again, as their futures were torn from them by the harsh chatter of Haliat-issue rifles.

We had made it to the next property, kilometers away, where my friends were waiting with stories of their own.

Tired and shaking with adrenalin release, we hunkered down.

"I just knew this was bound to happen..." raged Al, while checking his pistol's ammo mod and omnitool charge.

"So whats the plan?" Mike inquired, outwardly calm, but with slight biotic flaring.

Their eyes turned to me. Resolve strengthening with a deep breath, I stated, "The only thing we CAN do. We fight, or we die. Or worse, since these bastards are looking for slaves."

An omnitool beeped.

"Just got word that the governor got off a call to the Alliance Navy" said Mike.

"Good. Use that scanner we programmed and see if you can find the response". Mike nodded and got busy on his omnitool.

"Al, we're going to try to improvise some tech warfare, so I need you to use that developer license you've been oh-so proud of..."

I glanced at Jess, who was starting to break down. Her omnitool message screen was up, showing cam feeds from around her homestead. It was nonexistent, a high explosive charge had leveled the main unit and atmospheric fire had razed the compound.

"Hey... C'mere..."

I held her close, trying my damnedest to make a difference, but words aren't much comfort for losing your family, your home, your way of life.

"Of course, if we had a planetary militia, or even ground turrets, this wouldn't be such a desperate situation." Al griped, pointing out the obvious as usual. He was smart enough, but most times his observations were surface only.

"No, really! I thought we would all just sing Kum-Ba-Yah and they'd help us!" Mike's acerbic wit was quick to follow, glancing up from the protocol filter he was setting up.

"I'm just saying..."

"We all know, now please, just get those mods," I warned, eye-gesturing at Jess, shaking in my arms.

We headed out into the damp wilderness, alert and angry and worried. Occasionally, we would see signs of struggle, blackened craters from kinetic impacts, crusted blood trails, broken and bruised bodies, snapped brush, boot tracks. We stopped and swung on every unexpected noise, high-strung and paranoid. After several long hours, we made it to the outskirts of the capitol city, Nova Troya.

We spent the night preparing a guerrilla plan, upgrading our omnitools to allow for tech attacks- nothing like what we'd seen in the holovids or Alliance recruitment demos, but they would suffice. Mike managed to find the naval correspondence, learning that a detachment of marines would be making planetfall within 24 hours.

Al brought up the city's layout on a low-grade tactical display.

Mike fiddled a bit, and some symbols superimposed over the projection.

"I'm catching the most amount of comm traffic in these areas. The patterns here look like it may be the processing area for the slaves."

"How can you just... say that?!" Al fumed.

"Because, Al, that's the reality of what we're facing." Mike shot back.

"But those are _people. _People we _knew._ People who-"

"Snap out of it!" I hissed. "Let's not argue and get overheard by some mook patrol. We can debate ethics later."

"Fine, but I still don't like it," groused Al. He had been undergoing major perspective changes, each one held extreme. He wasn't one for logic so much as emotion, currently.

"So, whats the plan, Matt?" Mike asked, getting back on track.

"Stick to the high ground for now, you and Al swing around the rim westward. Take as much time as you need, observe patrol patterns, defense emplacements, everything. Jess and I will take the east, and glass from there. _Stay on the high ground._ Godspeed." Al and Mike shuffled off, careful to set their omnitools to night-hunter mode.

As they left, I placed my hands on Jess's shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Hey, are you going to be ok?" The Lover cautiously arose.

She looked up, with red, puffy eyes, light grime streaks broken by runnels of tears. "I... think so. Its just..."

I cupped her face in my hands. "I know." Gently I ran my thumbs in circles over her cheekbones, hot from recycled breath. "We need to keep going. We will set everything straight, we just need to do what we can until the Alliance can get here and drive them off for good. I just need you to be strong for a few more hours, then we can focus on rebuilding."

Slowly shaking her head, and with a small hiccough, she said in a strained voice. "That's my man. Always knows what to do."

I ran one hand down her back and the other behind her head. "I love you. Now we need to do our part for those who still have a chance."

"I love you, too."

She closed her eyes and leaned upward slightly, and my lips met hers, salty though they were with tears. And it was in that kiss, that her trust and love and admiration; along with my own love and hope and awe, were truly expressed. Reluctantly breaking the embrace, I set our omnitools to my own stealth hunter mode, and we started our observations.

While reconnoitering, we discovered that the batarian bastards had rounded up many of the farmers and their families into camps based on age, gender, and build. We met up again to compare notes on patrols and emplacements.

"We've got this!" Al blustered, about to go charging in.

"No, you idiot!" hissed Mike, "do you not see how many there are?!"

"But... oh. _Oh. _I just saw the ones by the fence."

"Oh, brother... If we weren't fighting for our lives, this would warrant a punch"

"Knock it off! I don't think we can necessarily take on the bulk by ourselves, we may just have to wait them out." The Officer had snuck in, and was desperately attempting to come up with a sound plan. Its one thing to move units in a computer program, but quite another to _be _a unit.

"Then perhaps... we ride at dawn!" Al said in a fake Cali accent.

We all appreciated the humor, after so much destruction, and facing the plight of so many like us... Even Jess, still dealing with the events, cracked a smile.

"Good thing I saved some of that space cow... I've a kidney and a heart left..." Firing up the rustic white gas survival stove I had brought, we had dinner.

"Oh, and I have dibs on the aorta and first chamber" I said, pointing the cooking utensil at my friends.

"Fine... as long as I get the tapered part of the kidney." Mike said grudgingly. Space cow giblets were a treat, as their diet of native grains and grasses imparted a rustic, full-bodied flavor to the meat.

After a few minutes, the sizzling rations, along with some root vegetables we had found while creeping about, were fully cooked. Reaching back into my pack, I pulled out some condiments I always kept, 'just in case'.

Al took a bite, then looked around.. "Ketchup, guys, where is it? And keep that evil mustard away from me!"

Jess was holding the bottle of yellowy goodness, then abruptly squeezed a stream in his direction. "What, this mustard?"

Mike and I had a good laugh over this, as Al just barely managed to move his leaf-plate out of the way of the blessed tangy stream.

Al just shook his head.

I smiled inwardly, seeing Jess joke around again meant she was on the rebound.

Mike grabbed the salt canister that I generally used for the first stage of pelt curing, then emptied about half of the mineral onto his portion of the kidney, covering it as snow covers the land.

"Gotta have the salt!" Mike crowed as he then began to eat his meal. He had an affinity for salt, in fact, he had a strange neurological problem which required a massive salt intake.

After we were finished and had buried the leaves, open containers, and leftovers, we all knew it would be too risky to have a fire, so I just let the white gas continue to burn.

Settling down after the meal and a few swigs of juice from some burstfruits we had found, the somber blanket of reality settled back down.

We told stories of earlier in our youth, recounting all our past adventures, mischief, and petty squabbles. We remembered the good times we had had with those who had recently been brutally ripped from the fabric of our existence, and then finally drifted into a companionable silence.

Breaking out the camo stealth-tarp I had designed, I said, "Who wants first watch?"

We delegated watches, then got ready for rest. As soon as Al was about to crawl into the tarp, he paused suddenly. "Wait, you had this in your pack the whole time today, correct?"

I nodded. "And you knew you were going hunting with Jess today, correct?"

A smirk crept onto my face. "Just shut up and get rest, Al."

He looked stricken, but ultimately figured that no sleep was for squares.

Daybreak- Smoke, screams, moans. Throaty batarian voices scolding, joking, snarling. Human voices pleading, begging, posturing.

Hurried checking of weapons, program fine-tuning. Biotic 'stretches'.

And most welcome of all, the booms of descending Alliance ships.

"This is it, our fight is here and now." I said.

The Officer stepped up full force. "Mike! I want you listening to both side's freqs, let me know if anything important happens. Al! Track down and sabotage any emplacements they have. Jess! Spot for officers. Ill take them."

"Which ones are officers?" Jess asked.

"Giving orders, personalized armor, that sort of thing" I replied. "Batarian officers all look like they just bit into a green persimmon."

"Persimmon...?" Al asked over comm, having headed for the nearest emplacement.

Mike piped up, "Its a fruit, Al." I could hear the head shake.

As the Sniper started to take over again, I heard Mike shouting, "Not good, Matt. They've got a fast-response Mantis team, and portable emplacements set up in choke points. I cant get through to our help!"

"Then catch up to Al and take them out personally!"

"Officer, 234 meters, north by northwest..." -_BOOM-_

"Officer, 130 meters, west by northwest..." -_BOOM-_

Meanwhile, Al was busy throwing weld packets at the slavers and Mike was combining throws and flash freeze fields. Not bad for a couple of farmboys who had just been thrust into the horrors of a battlefield.

I noticed the Alliance contingent disembarking, carrying Lancer-series rifles, but the first wave was mown down by two Mantis gunships on a high-speed strafe. Then a wing pair of Alliance Tridents swooped down and blasted the offending units.

"Turret Officer... Oh, God..."

I saw what Jess had seen. Al and Mike, trying to take out a turret, had forgotten that taking cover behind a couch in a video game is a viable tactic, but in the real world, a mass effect firearm isn't so easily foiled.

That is, while the projectiles are designed with soft metals in order to transfer kinetic energy upon impact, space cow leather and cotton are easily torn through and bodies hit on the other end.

Once more a feeling of loss welled up, having lost two friends I had known for close to a decade. The Sniper wagged his finger- emotion screws up shooting. I opened my eyes again to the scope and occluder, taking out the officers and specialists spotted by Jess.

The Marines had set up a Kodiak fortification, attempting to use the 'combat cockroaches' as cover against the relentless assault of merc fire. SO far we hadn't truly drawn much attention up high.

I kept firing, making sure to only shoot every two seconds, to let the rifle cool down.

I scoped one of the camps, and saw that the guards were starting to exterminate the youngest and oldest, presumably keeping time with their own casualties. _Not for much longer..._

A stray shot zinged into the overlook we were using and shattered the spotting glass Jess was using.

The Sniper left and was instantly replaced by the Lover, checking to see if she was okay.

"I'm fine, really, just let me use one of your guns."

I handed over my Kessler-series pistol.

The Officer reminded me of our chances, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to wait another few seconds. "I love you. Whatever happens, I will always love you."

Jess quirked a half-smile, and said "How many war movies did you say you watched?" But her words were merely to make light of the situation. Using only one arm to hold the rifle, my other one held hers and the Sniper resumed work.

After another few minutes, it appeared that the Alliance was gaining ground, so I decided to chance meeting with them. We left the snipe point and ran, cutting down the hill and through a few buildings. It soon became apparent that an enemy sniper was at work, though, and getting awfully close to us.

"Down, here!" I called as we reached a semi-safe stairway. I quick-scoped the high buildings, trying to find a glint or movement. All the options I had to counter-snipe were distasteful, but we couldn't stay hidden under wood forever. The best solution the Officer could come up with was certifiably insane.

I grabbed Jess' hand. "You're going to have to trust me. I need you to lead me around until I can dispatch that sniper. I'm going to be on the scope the whole time." She looked at me strangely, but nodded. I leaned down and kissed her, fearing it might be our last. "Oh, and you still need to teach me how to ballroom dance when this is over." She nodded, and looked for a good path.

I dialed back the scope to 4x, hoping it wouldn't throw my perceptions off too much. Jess took hold of my vest, and we took off.

Darting around, I glassed for any sign of the enemy sniper. Finally, I caught a glimpse of movement, high in a signal tower, and lined up my shot.

The Sniper took over once more, dilating my sense of time. It felt unreal, as though I watched two players, myself and the batarian, engaged in a game of chess out-of-body...

I started the squeeze. _Check. _

He swung minutely, seeking the arrogant human boy... _check , yourself. _

The trigger broke, and the deadly sequence began on my rifle. _Checkmate, buttercup bitch._

Time came back, and batarian blood was spattered all through the rebar of the perch I had shot into.

"Down you go!" I cheerfully called, and looked over at Jess... who was on the ground. _Stalemate, 2-eye baldface._

_By all that is holy..._

I dropped the rifle, pulled out the omnitool, knelt by her, loaded a shot of medigel...

"No... its not enough..." She managed to say. Her shaking hands, streaked with some of her own blood, sought my face.

"Yes it is! And how many romance vids have _you _been watching recently?" I choked out, trying to hold back tears and the cruel flow of her lifeblood.

"You know... I only watch horror..." she said, fading away, her hands falling. "I love you..."

I kissed her for the last time, in a dusty alley riddled with squib marks, rifle forgotten, with tears running freely, barely registering the world around me. Her omnitool chirped, with a file popping up timestamped that morning. Blinking through the hot, relentless tears, I copied it over to my omnitool for later review.

I felt a hand fall heavily on my shoulder. The Sniper leapt into action- I grabbed the pistol where it had fallen and spun, already depressing the firing stud...

"Hey, son, you can put that down, now". Belatedly, I realized there weren't anymore gunshots, ambient or otherwise. A tall black man in N7 officer's armor held up his hands.

Taking in the situation, he said, "I'm Captain David Anderson of the Alliance Fleet. We're here to get you out, son."

**POST SCRIPTUM: Thoughts, dear reader? If you have any constructive criticism, a review and/or a PM would be most appreciated! **


	2. Transcendens

**A/N: Thank you to everybody who read the first chapter, and to RamenKnight who was kind enough to review. This chapter is the transition between life on Mindoir and life in the military- I started writing this as a flashback on Shepard's basic training, but figured a transitional piece would better fit. So enjoy and review!**

**Disclaimer: All recognizable places and characters owned by EA/Bioware. 'Reignite' owned by Malukah/MiracleofSound. I just edited it slightly to fit in the story.**

Pregnant silence.

How does one comfort a young man of sixteen?

He is too old to be held and coddled, stroked and told that everything would be fine, especially by a stranger.

At least, that's what he would like you to think.

He is too young to be barked at, slapped and told to _get your ass in gear!_

At least, that's what you would like to think.

Riding the command Kodiak out of Mindoir's atmosphere, Anderson gazed at the young man. There was something about him- an aura, or perhaps an energy- that struck the officer. A maturity, or maybe it was simply an aura.

That intense moment that he had come upon the youth in the pathway, shaking and shuddering over the lifeless body of his love.

That intense moment as he saw, even if only a brief glimpse, the look in his eye as he grabbed the fallen Kessler, attained sight picture and stance even as he swung the weapon at him.

That intense moment that Anderson was _sure_ he was going to get a round in his face.

Even now, with only his own mind as company- no doubt replaying, repeating, reliving the events- a look of focused anger, concentration.

Anderson had given him the task of rounding together local help in sorting the dead and wounded in the aftermath of the slaver incursion, and it almost seemed a seasoned field officer was leading the sorting teams, inciting action and response.

Anderson knew he himself was a tough sonofabitch; hell, anyone who even attempted N-school was a certifiable badass. But privately he wondered if he truly had the steel to do what this lad had managed.

Shepard personally buried each member of his family; and Al, Mike, and Jess, all the while remarking on little memories and factoids to Anderson, who had gone with Shepards were buried in their homestead, near the prairie run. Al and Mike were buried near the 'tech stack' they had spent nearly a decade building, plotting galactic domination, critiquing technologies, and pirating licenses to software. Jess was buried in Robert's Folly Forest slightly west of the Shepard's property. That particular spot had great significance. Matt had built plans to start his own compound in there, and had already started clearing the right sized area.

But much more so than that- it was where he and Jess had bonded.

Their first kiss, an awkward mashing of lips after an equally awkward flirt line.

Their first argument, over Mindoir's political future.

Their first kill as a hunting team, a runt of a space cow that needed culling.

Their first experience in physical love, a glorious twining of limb and soul unlike any other experience possible in this lifetime.

He had noted all this to Anderson, who had aided him in squaring away everything.

A lesser man would have retreated into himself, gone catatonic, or experience a major personality shift. A mind not capable enough would be stuck in a never-ending loop of feedback from an overactive amygdala, or perhaps fall into a hazy fugue state. A spirit easier to vanquish would have imploded.

But this young man was different. As he finished, he filed the deed away to the property, organized an estate auction, and then told Anderson he wanted to join the Alliance Navy.

'Yes, that'll be two biscuits with apple jelly. To go. Make it quick.'

A factoid he had heard not too long ago sprang into mind. 'After initial stimulus, any emotional response will last for twelve minutes. If it lasts any longer, it is self-inflicted.'

It was obvious that this young man's emotional processing was on par with, say, a salarian.

And now, David Anderson, N7 rated marine, captain of an N-squad, killer of scum, quaffer of drinks, leader to men, was utterly without a clue.

Most of the rescued colonists chose reassignment to another colony, or shift permit to another continent. Some, like Matt, had lost all and wanted to volunteer for the military, or the engineering corps, or anything _not Mindoir. _But no others did Anderson see in his mind's eye as having much of a prominent future as did Shepard.

He relocated to the jump seat in front of him, hoping to at least get a read on his current state.

"..._eas, quae misericordiae tuae maxime indigent. In nomenis Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." _

So he was praying. Anderson figured it was Latin, as his universal translator was slow in responding with a translation: "...especially those in most need of Thy mercy. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen."

Well, if that was how he kept himself sane, Anderson just might look into it someday. Suddenly Shepard snapped to, his eyes setting into what appeared to be default state- level, calm, focused.

"So, what are my chances in the military?"

Anderson almost laughed. A smart lad like him with no remaining ties was bound to be signed up into the ever-increasing ranks of the Alliance Navy. But he understood the concern, nonetheless.

"Well, son, I suppose with my commendation, I can get you set up. Have you figured what you would enjoy doing? I saw some of your work, your technical skills are quite formidable. I'm sure the Engineering boys could use you." Anderson furrowed his brow and squinted, trying to remember the basics of recruitment they'd been taught in the N4. "Or perhaps you might like to be EOD, or maybe a..." Looking back up, Anderson was staring at a vacant seat.

"Bang." Shepard had appeared behind him.

Anderson jumped at the softly spoken word, astonished at how the boy had managed to move so effortlessly without him taking notice.

"...or I suppose you could try sniper school. All kinds of unconventional tactics to be honed there."

"You're N7, right? Whats that take?"

"Well, First you have to be accepted into N-school. The first rating you earn is N1, training is in Rio on Earth. Its 20 hour-a-day training, a month of constant drills and missions. Only about 35% of the people who apply get to attempt it, and of them, only about 15% actually receive N1.

If you survive that, N2 is 'haz-viro' training, they take you all over to drill in different conditions. N3 would probably be your favorite- that's where non-standard weapons training is introduced, as well as basic guerrilla warfare tactics. N4 is 'the eye of the storm' because its relatively easy. Combat first-aid, vehicle operation, advanced relations and diplomacy. The N5 is a test of combat competency alone, in small squads, and in platoon leadership in various conditions. N6 is the last 'trained' rank, and earned while an N5 in the field. There's _never _a shortage of 'rut missions', unfortunately. And as for the N7... well..."

"Isn't that the only designation allowed to be worn on clothing, armor, and equipment?"

"Yes, actually. N6 officers who distinguish themselves are considered for N7. No other rating may be worn or displayed as the N7 is."

"Don't get yer hopes up, kid. Just accept a nice grunt position more on yer level, where you can get sent into some batarian-held shithole and take some with ya."

Anderson barked at the cynical soldier. "THAT will be all, Jayvell. You have no right no diminish the aspirations of any man!"

Jayvell just shrugged. "I seen way too many go in with only high hopes and no backing. Hell, my older brother washed. I'm N5, I never took no happy thought to the MilStat office. Only skill."

Matt stared at the officer. "Oh, so this was your 'rut mission', hm? Just some lonely backwater you can swoop in, shoot some bastards, then get advanced, is that it?"

Jayvell shot up. "Look, runt, I don't need to hear some farmboy's opinion on my career!"

Matt just gave a strange smile. "'When the officers are weak and the men are strong, there is insubordination.' Sounds like you're not doing too good posturing." A few chuckles from Jayvell's squad.

Jayvell growled and started to advance, but Anderson interjected himself. "_STAND DOWN, JAYVELL! _Don't you think he's put up with enough shit for a lifetime? So why add to it?" He whirled on Matt. "And you! Just because you _have _gone through all that shit doesn't make you entitled to jerk around officers. You aren't special forces, hell, you ain't even _military _yet. And I doubt that instigating altercations with superior officers is the best way to start a career."

Matt seemed to mull over his words for a moment, then extended his hand to the errant officer. "I thank you for your service, I apologize for speaking out, and I hope that you will forgive me."

Jayvell just stared at the proffered hand, then tentatively shook it. He muttered, "Yeah, well, jus don' take nuthin light-like."

Sighing in relief, Anderson sighed, then turned back to the young man. "Alright, where were we?"

Matt sat down, elbows on knees, head forward. "I believe you were explaining the tiers of Special Forces."

"Right, right. So, to get you started on the path, there are some forms I'm going to need you to fill out, I just need to dig them up..."

Later, after transmitting the medical, aptitude, and information data, Shepard stayed awake in the quarters assigned to him and several other young ensigns. The Kodiaks had docked with the cruiser in orbit- the SSV Philadelphia- and the process of processing, debriefing, and reassignment had begun.

After being debriefed by the mission commander, the captain, and an intelligence officer, Shepard was finally allowed to retire for the 'night' watch. His observations and recordings of the mercenary weapons, tactics, and vehicles were of great interest to the intel officer, as he had never seen any merc force deploy Mantis gunships before.

Fiddling around with some of the settings on his omnitool, I again came across the file that had appeared on Jess' omnitool when she had died. A hollow ache, at the same time frigid and infernal, continued to rage on in my psyche. While I allowed few outward signs of my struggle, and indeed had 'skipped' several of the grieving steps, no amount of mental titanium could fully bar the abrupt change in my life. No amount of compartmentalization could contain the searing tide of loss, emptiness.

I glanced around at the ensigns, all either asleep or 'otherwise occupied', and played the file.

"If you are hearing this, I won't insult your intelligence to assume you don't know why; but I do know that you will have survived."

Hearing her alto voice, speaking in a somber tone from beyond the grave, threatened to tear down the walls of the Officer.

"You are the greatest person to ever be in my life, even if I never had much of one outside the continent. Your fire, your drive, your determination, and of course, your love all meant more to me than life itself." A nervous chuckle. "I must be sounding like some clichéd woman right now, but it is true. I could never fathom living without you, but if you must live without me..." at this point, a tear started rolling down her soft cheek and her steady alto faltered and cracked, "...please be happy. Know that you made the galaxy a greater place to live for me, and that I want you to make the same difference to as many people as possible. I will plead with whatever higher power, whether it be your God or some other, to follow you as you live so that you never truly will be alone." A small half-smile. "And I'd better be able to approve of any other significant other." I shook my head. For someone who was known for reticence, she sure could be frank. "I did have a small song that I was going to save for your birthday, but I suppose I may as well record it for you now." A deep breath, then in clear, cotton-soft alto: "You will never surrender, you'll free the earth and sky, though your heart be crushed to embers, you will reignite." A sniff, and a quick glance off screen. "I love you. Forever and always."

The playback ended, but Shepard continued to stare at the screen. He continued to stare at his arm even as his omnitool went into standby, chewing over his lover's final words. Then, he just let it out. A rush of stinging tears gushed from his eyes, his mouth scrunched, and his diaphragm spasmed with the emotional release of crying. The raging volcano of loss, not just for Jess, but for his family, his friends, cast a thick black pall over his mind's eye. The ship, the galaxy, reality... it all just vanished, replaced by the unfathomable tide of loss, confusion, anger, and despair.

Finally, resolution. The Diplomat started collating the steps he would need to start his vision, the Scholar began research on it, the Lover went to sleep. The Officer dusted himself off.

He would make a difference. He would do it for the galaxy.


	3. Exercitium

**A/N: This is part 2, mainly anecdotes from basic training, Sniper School, Special Forces/Officer training for Shepard. I apologize for the delay, as I have been involved with starting up a new business (which I will shamelessly plug if you ask through PM). One more chapter for _Elementum _after this, and then its time for the next phase.**

I lay in my quarters on Elysium, my current billet. I had recently just passed N6 training, and summarily transferred into a 'combat' zone. At first, I had scoffed at the mention of where my posting would be, but figured the brass wouldnt be so incompetent as to post an N6 anywhere without reason. Funny thing, my life. I was too young to immediately enlist in the military, no matter how hard Anderson and his buddies in command tried to bludgeon the red tape. Surprisingly, I tested positive for biotic potential, and received L3 implants. I was nowhere as good as my friend Mike had been, but I was proficient enough to be effective.

After two years in 'Delayed Entry', I finally got the chance to go through basic training for the Alliance Marines.

"...Mulholland Shapiro... Matt Shepard... Jeanette Rast..."

I stood at perfect attention, as the roll was called for graduating 'boots'. The Soldier facet had been developed, channeling my rage and anger into a _potestas_ nearly unstoppable. It hadn't been an easy two and a half months in any way...

"YOU MAGGOTS FALL IN! I SAID FALL IN!" The gravity had been turned off, and we were all at attention- in free-fall. This was designed to test our unspoken cohesion...

"GET OVER THAT OBSTACLE, DAMMIT! SHEPARD, MOVE YOUR ASS! YOU AREN'T WATCHING CORN GROW!" A group of targets that randomly popped up to impede forward progress, testing mental and physical dexterity...

"ALL YOU LITTLE VORCHA GRUBS, PAY ATTENTION TO SHEPARD'S SHOOTING! The proudest moment I'd had... on the firing range, knocking the targets down unerringly...

"SHOW ME THAT WAR FACE SHEPARD! NO! I SAID WAR FACE, NOT ORGASM FACE! SCARE ME, DON'T COME ON TO ME!" My usual set face drew the attention of our drill instructor during melee combat training. He was probably making sure I wasn't some sort of psychopath.

After 10 weeks of brutal conditioning, I was ready to go to specialist school. I picked Sniper school, as it played to my strengths of stealth, sharpshooting, and sabotage. Specialist school was less strict than basic, but they left much less room for error. Every day on the range, targeting farther and farther, both with common mods and specialized targeting, and with crude, makeshift scopes, iron sights, even reflex-shooting and quickscoping short-range. They needed snipers to be able to adapt to any range of fighting, and subsequently trained us in the pistol and for a select few, the shotgun.

The final test of sniper school was a thousand-kilometer shot with a spotter and a basic scope. Admittedly, the snipers of old using ballistic ammunition had it harder, as the weapon computer did most of the calculations of exact mass fluctuation and chip size in modern times, but keeping the rifle on target and utilizing the spotter could not be done by a simple program. Well, not in the field, anyway.

The exercises in sneak-sniping and counter-evasions were fun, on some level. The old snipers had to belly crawl everywhere, nowadays cloaking fields made a wider range of motions possible. The trick was to not move too fast, or the countersniping officer would detect the shimmer, nor too slow, as cloaking tech had a limited time.

The weeks spent there were pure bliss in comparison to the next level of training. The vocational codes that officers had appended to their dossiers were a good indicator of their toughness. Each code had a tier system, any officer in a vocational specialization had to ascend each tier.

Special forces, code N, seemed perfect for me.

While the pain stemming from the events on Mindoir never truly receded, I had learned to channel the negative into cold, unerring resolve. It was a reservoir of will and fortitude that I tapped whenever I needed to _get over that wall _or to _keep running you worthless scum. _The Soldier learned to thrive in these situations. The Soldier was the archetype I needed to begin to refine the Officer.

N-school was hell.

The N1 training program takes place in Rio de Janeiro. Its formal name is "Interplanetary Combatives Training"; 20 hours of training each day, only 800 calories of intake each day, and grueling combat, evasion, and survival drills. There is no true shame in failing N1 training, as even attempting it is enough to earn great respect.

The constant dullness of fatigue, the sharp ache of hunger, the burn of exertion... anyone who's resolve is not diamond hard will fail.

I did not fail.

I did not fail when one of my squad died due to aggravated allergies that slipped the medical screeners, I did not fail when I dislocated a shoulder while in a live-fire exercise. I did not fail when we lost our squad meal rations for a week, and were forced to eat fish and rodents raw.

After the intense weeks of small-squad combat training, I was elevated to N1, and invited to attempt the N2 training.

N2 training is mostly hazardous environment combat training, with segments taking place on frozen worlds, (in my case Pluto), volcanic worlds, toxic worlds, and high/low gravity worlds. N2s are expected to be combat officers competent in leading in any terrain.

I passed N2 training with very few problems, the worst being a hairline fracture in my helmet on an ammonia-atmosphere planet... That was a fun 13 hours.

N3 developed personal combat skills, and was dubbed "Spartan camp"; daily sessions of hand-to-hand drills, pugil stick bouts, improvised weaponry and guerrilla tactics. Here, the biotic officers also honed their combat abilities, the tech-oriented wrote and personalized their combat programs, and weapons specialization was revisited.

N4 was all about the battlefield esoterics- everything BUT the fighting. Called "The Eye of the Storm" due to its (relatively) easy curriculum. Field medicine and first-aid, vehicle operation of the M29 Grizzly (and we even got a tutorial sim on the new M35 Mako) and basic piloting of the Kodiak drop shuttle. We also took crash courses in alien etiquette, and cross-species ranks. The universal translators were a big help, but knowing the chain of command in different situations is certainly invaluable. We also learned the basics of each specie's most common languages.

N5 was specialized combat training, such as underwater, aerial soldier, air/spacecraft drops, ship combat, and the like. Competency in all areas of combat is required to receive this designation.

N6- the final tier. N6 candidates are sent for actual ground combat on a front, be it rooting out dissidents, shooting up pirates or mercs; in a big galaxy and an expansive frontier, there were very few N5s who didn't have an opportunity for N6 combat.

The big 7 is not technically a tier, its only awarded if an N6 shows utter competency, skill, and uncommon bravery and discipline. Anyone earning the N7 had the right to display that designation on any article of clothing, any gear, tattoo it on, whatever. It was the only rank that allowed it. You got the best assignemnts, equipment- but the best was expected.

My 'N6 qualifier' was on a backrocket colony that had a cell of Blood Pack mercenaries causing trouble. _That_ had been a fun mission...

I had a fire-team of 4 other N5s: Stroeder, Eris, Tchang, and Nolan. I was both leader and backup sniper, Tchang being designated sniper. Stroeder was a combat specialist, Eris was our engineer, and Nolan was a biotic. Thinking back on that team always made me smile...

"The main base is going to be about two clicks from our LZ. Command didn't deem it important enough to get us any decent ECM, so we have to truck it out. We will be performing a space jump, with glide packs. Air mix is 49 nitrogen, 23 oxygen, 27 argon, and 1 percent trace, so we shouldn't need helmets the entire time. Gravity is 1.6 standard, and pressure is only about 1.2 atmos." Pausing to let the squad note and run the numbers, I continued "Yes, that's exactly what we've had the ship at for the last few days. As soon as we land, it will be a shot to the surrounding hills. From there, we reconnoiter and clear the base. We can't do a bombardment due to the bunker being hardened, and we all know how those prefabs are- built to last anyhow.

"Our order of battle will be to concentrate on krogan shock troops first, I don't think I need to explain that. Any 'mechs or specialists are priorities as well. Lastly, we need to make sure that the base is combed for intel, then made unusable. Questions?"

I had to ask. Not that my team would have any, they were some of the brightest put out by the program.

The drop point approached, and the shuttle pilot called for atmo insertion. We grabbed our glide packs, and filed out. Leader and sniper, engineer and wepspec, then biotic final.

No matter how many live or training jumps I did, the exhilaration of freefall, the existential thrill of each new planet- each one a massive gem unto itself, and a galaxy filled with them- The Officer calculated positioning and combat effectiveness, while the Scholar soaked in every detail of the planet below as possible.

After a few minutes of glide, the base appeared to our 'Mark I visuals' (our eyes, but this is the Alliance military). I slowed down slightly with a few degrees of pointing upward, then let the Sniper take over as I pulled out the Lancer I was issued. I brought up the scope, and sought sentries... There. At this distance, it would still be a stealth kill... Down went the security mech. I was sighting in on the vorcha standing a bit away, when his head exploded like a melon. The Sniper faded back, not needed, and Tchang flashed a thumbs-up my way.

We landed on the top of the slope, near the entrance console. Nearly every one of these prefabs were the same, with an entrance, a foyer, a hallway, and a main room.

This one was no different, I ordered Nolan forward with Stroeder following. What few mechs were on floor guard were warped or rendered combat-ineffective quickly by the pair. I darted out, clearing the crates while Tchang covered. Eris went to all the weapon lockers and data consoles to find out what was needed...

Then came the krogan. Already vicious reptilian brutes, the ones with full armor and kinetic barriers were almost unstoppable. But with the Officer in complete control, each one fell to the trained reflexes and precise weapons fire of my team.

After clearing the base, it was time for the paperwork and updates.

As I sat in the office of the prefab, I set up the duty shifts until our extraction in several hours.

Checking the roster, I noticed that Tchang and Stroeder were on sentry duty together. I chuckled to myself. Those two sure would be 'doing duty' on each other for some time. What an odd couple- Tchang a wiry Oriental sniper, ruffled hair, preferred to keep his scout visor open all the time; and Stroeder, a burly hulk of a man who could take on any three marines and win. Ah well. Nolan would probably make sure nothing assaulted us.

Suddenly the door opened, and Eris came in in undress uniform.

"Shepard". She stated simply, walking over to where I was finishing the after-action.

I closed down the omnitool and leaned back, as she walked behind me and laid her hands on my shoulders. I knew she had feelings for me, but I'd never seen her act on them other than stray glances or willingness to volunteer with me. She was no doubt attractive, Approximately 1.8 meters tall, athletic build, light brown hair, brown eyes.

"Thank you for earlier, by the way." She murmured.

"Oh, its just my duty. Wouldn't want our engineer getting shot up" I said smiling. A krogan had charged her after tearing up a drone; I had used a program I created on my omnitool to launch a solid-state stiletto-type projectile into his hump, severing primary and secondary nervous systems, long enough for her to barrage him with pistol fire.

She began to softly knead my shoulders. "You are certainly an officer like none I've seen or heard about.

Her breath was very close to my right ear. My archetypes scrambled to come up with an answer to this. Base instinct seemed to be getting the upper hand however.

"Well, you know, I try..." I choked out lamely. There was a dearth of blood in my thinking head, even the Sniper was having trouble walking forward.

"The others volunteered for all-night duty. There's not a problem." Her now-husky voice filled my ears like a taiko drum melody, and suddenly her mouth was teasing my earlobe.

Just like Jess had loved to do.

Jess.

Suddenly the Officer snapped front and center. "Hold it, Marine. If I'm acting Commander, wouldn't that be fraternization?" She jumped back, shocked at the abrupt rejection.

"Please believe me, between duties and intimacy, intimacy would normally win. However, I don't rush into things half-cocked." I then slapped myself at my choice of words. "Ok, maybe that was slip. But We are also on-duty, and there are regs against fraternization. So thank you, you are a stunning woman, but no."

Standing off-kilter through the outburst, Eris snapped to and nodded briskly. "I understand. Are we ok?"

"I smiled. "I still value your comradeship, don't worry. Happens all the time." I quipped.

Snapping out of my reverie, I checked the planetary news and radar feeds, double checking that nothing was off. Well, would probably be another routine day on the alpine paradise of Elysium.

Little did I know how wrong I was.


	4. Semper Paratus?

**A/N: So yes, I decided I was going to split Shepard's military background into two different chapters, this one is the lead-up. I'd like to thank those of you who have read, and RamenKnight for his faithful reviewership, and also KasumiCain for reading and reviewing just about everything I've written to date.**

Morning stretches, quick workout. Shower, shave, dress, armor.

Routine morning duties, and even as a lieutenant-commander in charge of a regiment on an Elysium garrison duty, it had to be obeyed. Toweling off, I dressed in naval undersuit, then began the task of armoring up. First was utility belt and carapace. _Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. _Cuisses, greaves, boots, all snapped into their joints, hooked into the trauma system, and snapped and laced. _As shoes for your feet put on the sandals of the Gospel. _Kinetic barriers primed, full suit seated and straightened. _With all of these, take the shield of Faith. _Finally, tactical helmet with built-in sniper optics and comm gear to communicate with planetary militia, should the need arise. _Take the helmet of salvation... _Finally, cleaned and oiled the night before, broken down and storage-ready, sidearm, sniper rifle, shotgun, and obligatory assault rifle. _...and the sword of the Spirit._

An echo test ensured all comlinks were secure and encrypted, then it was off to the duty station.

Briskly marching through the equally brisk morning air, I stopped in at the mess for morning chow.

Some of the newer militia and green regulars started to rise, but I waved them down. There was a sense of urgency that the Officer could discern.

"Morning, LC." Suggs, the mess officer, greeted me as usual, putting a heaping pile of fried tubers and meat strips on my tray. I did enjoy the officer's mess for dinner, but there was nothing like a greasy start to a day.

"Morning, Suggs. Whats new?" The Diplomat arose to socialize a bit.

"Heh! You know very well whats new, you're the one who put through that order for 3 tons of local ambrosia. And you know _very well _who gets to cook that godawful crap!"

"Aww, and here I thought you were going to thank me for doing thirty percent of your job!"

"Just eat up, _sir!" _We both had a good laugh. Ambrosia, of course, was the legendary 'food of the gods' in Greek mythology. Elysium was analogous to heaven in the same lore, and so naturally the colonists had formed a planetary dish with that moniker. Though one had to wonder if it was ironic or not- essentially a blend of Earth-strain cabbage, local boiled tuber, farmed seafood, and the veins of a leaf found only on the farming continent, all suspended in a simple flour and meat broth. While the flavor itself wasn't all that bad, when cooking vast quantities of the meal, the fish smell tended to overpower any indoor cooking facility.

Sitting down, I opened up the day's reports by the night watch and aerospace patrols. The Officer still had an uneasy feeling, though the Soldier found nothing remiss about the reports themselves. _Stellar anomalies, brushfires, an unsanctioned duel... usual backrocket stuff._

Going over my mental checklist of the day's duties (_need to drill my fellow yokels...)_ one of the junior officers walked over nervously.

"Hey, uh, LC, I had a question, if I'm not bothering or anything. I could always..."

"Simmer down, soldier. Ive always got time. What is it?" I was mostly sure I knew the question, its not like every other militia member had asked me at one point or another...

"Well, ever since you assumed command of our post, we've been drilling more and more, have gotten in more shooting and tactics exercises than standard for most regular outfits, and are pushed harder than would seem normal. Do you know something we don't?" There it was. Local vs. outsider. Having been in that position myself only a few years previous- hearing of Alliance troops passing through Mindoir, and trying to deduce their purpose, I understood this one's inquisitiveness. And apprehension, as most books and movies taught you increased training meant the Big Day was at hand.

I exhaled, and allowed the Officer front and center. "Well Private Fisk, its like this. There's a super-secret galactic organization that controls everything. They directly affect the galactic economy, keep the governments moving as puppets, and even control the media. They ensure that everything happens according to their Master Plan, and that every galactic citizen- outlaw or otherwise- bends to their every whim." I maintained a stony stare at the private, while watching his face move through approximately fifteen expressions. Mainly variations of confuddlement and shock.

"We-well, uh, why, uh, why tell me?"

"Because they decreed one less militia member from Elysium, and now that I told you, I have to kill you."

Another four expressions. Disbelief and fear were the last two.

I stood up comically, and loudly announced: "By decree and bull of the Galactic Illuminati, Private Jared Fisk of the 4th Elysium Combat Regiment is to be terminated due to knowledge of the group!"

Suggs shouted from his mess line, "Quit scarin' 'em and just tell em you're a ruthless taskmaster who thrives on the misery of your troops!"

I sat down. "Essentially, I'm a ruthless taskmaster who thrives on the misery of my troops. Brass doesn't just send N6 teams anywhere, and so I'm just fulfilling my duties of protection as best I can. Say, are there any Boy Scout troops around?"

Fisk, slumping slightly in relief, seemed to be caught off-guard by the question. With him, it seemed pretty easy to do. "Well, yeah, my brothers are in one."

"Then you may know that their motto is to 'Be Prepared'. The founder, an Englishman from Terra two hundred-some odd years back, name was Lord Robert Baden-Powell, had been asked once what that meant. 'Prepared for what?'. His answer: 'Why, for any old thing'. So I am keeping you all prepared. Does that answer your question?"

He got up and stood at attention. "Sir!"

I returned to my planning while shoveling down bacon-analogous rations.

After marksman drills (when your instructor is a sniper, you learn quickly) and some hand-to-hand, I figured I would hold do a refresher on defensive structure and fortification.

"The best areas for defensive fighting are _where, _Private Smith? (There's one in every unit...)"

"Sir: Cities, forests, mountain passes, hilltops!"

"Good answer, but if you're defending a city, something has gone terribly wrong! Especially for you heavy-weapons fetishists. Many armies have been frustrated by attrition while attempting to clear and occupy cities, yes, but then you have civilian casualties to worry about, property liabilities, and even friendly fire. _Especially _if the enemy doesn't worry. When defending a city, surgical strikes are best. Snipe some enemies, block a few streets, plant booby traps.

As for forest and jungle- ONLY IF YOU KNOW YOUR TERRAIN. You can have the best defensive plan since Bastogne, but if a pack of tigers you didn't realize lived in the area get hungry, you are out of luck. Knowledge is power in that regard. Mountain passes are some of the best defensive terrains, but they are rare and most modern tech can level the advantage. You do have the advantages of a chokepoint, concealment, cover, and morale.

"I recently wrote and distributed several pamphlets concerning family-level defenses in this part of our fine planet. Has everyone gone over them with your families?"

Most of the hands raised. Good, good.

"As for those of you who haven't... Please do. Its not a matter of scaring them, its a matter of keeping them ready. You all volunteered for a reason, and they are making a sacrifice to not see you for a few days each week. It could be more if we ever get mobilized. Has anyone here heard of Mindoir?"

All but a few hands went up.

"That's my home planet." A few wide eyes of realization. "I watched my family get gunned down, I watched friends die because we didn't have a truly organized and trained militia. Your midday chow assignments are to draw up three defensive plans: A home defense plan involving your family and homestead, an outpost defense plan involving this entire regiment, and a continental defense plan involving the three regiments and materiel stationed here. You may come up with plans by squad, but everyone must make their own family defense plan. I expect to see them at 1400 sharp. Dismissed."

For midday chow, I decided to brave the enlisted mess again and have some ambrosia. The smell walking into the humid mess hall was almost physical, of course, causing the eyes to water, the breath to catch, and sweat to run..

Slopping a ladlefull into the tray, Suggs gave me a nasty look. "Yeah, LC, I saw you walk in here. Here's your lunch with a side of miasma!"

"Oh, please. Its not like you couldn't delegate!" I retorted nodding at the unruly privates on KP.

Suggs looked stricken. "And then be the one to clean the latrines? Naw, I'll take the _unprocessed _stench any day."

I shook my head. "Well then, why are you even complaining?"

He laughed. "Don't you read the extranet? Complaining lets you live longer. Something about venting stress other people just let eat them up."

"Or perhaps its just that people drop like flies around complainers, skewing the results."

"Yeah, whatever. Quit holding up my line!" Suggs waved me off with the ladle.

For the next hour or so, I listened to questions, reviewed familial deployment stratagems _No Billy Joe, just because your kid's Plinkster has less range doesn't mean you deploy them at the front to 'soften up' the enemy. No Bill, putting your mother-in-law in that tree due to her 'eyesight' isn't a sound move. You __**DO **__realize that that's a fuel tank you're banking on being your main defense, Karl? That's pretty genius, using a coffin trick with a wheelbarrow. Notice I'm not smiling. _

Not all of them were strategically challenged, though. I kept track of the ones who had solid guerrilla plans, like the one who lived alone but had mass effect weapons remote-controlled around his property, along with clickers, flash bulbs, and other distractors. As for the outpost defense, plans were fairly homogenous due to the fact that we already had fortifications set up. The main differences seemed to be in the complexity and positioning of the four regiments.

As for the continental defense, there truly were some harebrained ideas: dividing armor and infantry, paper gambits, _border defense?_ Well, then. Time to straighten out these notions that turn-based strategy simulators were accurately translated into real life.

Everyone was sitting in formation, awaiting critique.

"The main problems I'm seeing with the larger-scale plans are either along the lines of logistical impossibilities, complex gambits, or improper dispersion. If you deploy fighting units, you need to have supply lines to get to those units! If you deploy armor patrols, some need fuel, and most will need repair!"

I watched a few bewildered looks turn into dawning understanding, and a few smug looks.

"So, what we are going to do is come up with a contingency continental defense as a full regiment."

A few moans throughout the hall.

"This is meant not as punishment, but..."

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a military courier waving frantically at me.

"One moment." I walked off the lecture floor and over to the courier.

"Couldn't this have gone to omnitool?" I asked. The Officer started squirming anew, sure that this was what had been bothering me.

"Sir, we've picked up a massive space force in-system. The Arcturus fleet has been notified, and has begun its move to intercept, but a significant number of troop transports are inbound, the bulk of which are projected to be landing on our continent!"

"What, are the turians getting twitchy again? Or what?" The Scholar began furiously crunching through disposition reports of the major militaries...

"We suspect that its a pirate force. Makeup is inconsistent with any sanctioned navy, and the diversity is indicative of a pirate force."

My teeth clenched. Once more I would be on a world attacked by slavers and scum of all sorts. But who... "Batarians." I ground out. "Has to be them backing the group. Thank you for letting me know. Get the other N6s on conference with me and make sure Alliance Command knows we are moving to defend."

The courier saluted then ran off.

"Lieutenant Sterling! Take over the exercise for a few minutes!" I barely heard the acknowledgment as I stormed off to the comm station, the Soldier raging, the Officer and Scholar planning, and the Sniper itching.

Walking into the building, I returned the salute of the comm officer and opened my omnilink.

The other N6s all popped up, all in command of a regiment of militia. All in full armor, all with weapons.

"Just what the hell exactly is going on?" One of them asked. I recognized Garcia, who's regiment was projected to be the first hit.

"From what I understand, a ground force of pirates are inbound to the planet. Unknown objectives, assuming population harvesting, and symbolic destruction." I didn't need to explain much more than that- The Skyllian Verge was a hotly contested-though mostly politically- area near the Batarian Hegemony.

"Well, do we have an order of battle?" That would be Riggs. A machine in a fight, but needed some direction for strategy.

Well, great. Looks like everyone would be depending on me for a defensive plan. I briefly bowed my head and said a quick prayer, then looked up, determined.

"As it just so happens, my regiment has been doing defensive exercises, and we were just now discussing a viable continent-level defensive strategy. Which means Garcia, Miller, Krause, I need you to start preparing along with us since we included your regiments in our strategies. Hogue, Riggs- you need to hold the mining district above all on your area. Goldwater, Peoples, Mohann, you have the upper crust to hold.

"Whats the ETA on our invader friends?" Why hadn't I asked sooner? The Soldier and Scholar seemed to shake their heads.

"It appears that it could be as soon as 10 hours." Hogue, engineer as he was, answered. Probably he knew of the fleet's make up just by looking at the blips.

"Well, then. Better get all your assets prepared and deployed doubletime. I want regular sitreps and dispositions to my omnitool." The calmness that appeared on our faces belied the urgency and uncertainty that we all felt. "Remember, we are Alliance Marines. Your troops, their families, and all the citizens of Elysium look up to you for a reason. The fleet in orbit, they are depending on you to hold the line down here for a reason. Remember that reason: you are the most competent and elite troops the Alliance has fielded. When your armor is seen, you will strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Fear of the evil they wish to cause, fear of the good we wish to uphold. And through this fear, you will save those who need it most. Godspeed; Shepard out."

Now it was time for war.


	5. Fames Proelii

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Chris Kyle and Chad Littlefield, who were killed February 2, 2013. My prayers are with their families, and with the family of the man charged with their shootings. Chris Kyle was the author of the book "American Sniper", which detailed his kills against insurgents in the Middle East in the 2000s. **

**I would also like to thank those of you who have faithfully read and reviewed, those of you who have given me helpful writing advice and guidance, and those of you who have put up with my quirks.**

**So a big shout-out to RamenKnight, KasumiCain, Aeternix, Full-Paragon (and your little friend, too), Kendoka Girl, Vergil1989, Taupe Two, Awska, Inkess, thebluninja, M. B Liddle , and Exar Kun IV. **

**I'd also like to thank the community at Aria's Afterlife, headed by the lovely LyingOwl-Aria. Visit there. Its awesome. Seriously. I'll shut up now so you can get to the important stuff (and no I'm not **_**trying **_**to boost my wordcount with acknowledgements).**

**Vetus System, Oblique Intrasystem Ecliptic Approach on Elysium, Cruiser **_**Polar Wind**_

Captain Arshna of Blitz Element Mortar stood at attention on the bridge of the cruiser _Polar Wind_. He glanced at the shuttle reports of Element Shell, watching them split off into their final assault landing formations, each formation assigned a specific area of the blighted land the humans called a colony to sweep through. Their main objective was not merely to demoralize, but to divide- drive a wedge between bleeding heart appeasers and militant warhawks in the human government. An orbital bombardment or any other breach of the Citadel Conventions would certainly bring unwanted attention to the Blitz forces, and most likely just unify the brazen humans. Unfortunately, Elanos Haliat had not seen fit to provide his group with the necessary equipment to destabilize any asteroids in-system, so the assault had to be conventional.

"Any reports on planetary readiness?"

"Sir, the drones are almost ready for minijump deployment, as well as the experimental mini satellite network. We should be receiving a virtually-real-time feed within the hour." The turian 'holotank' officer- responsible for ensuring the display of the battle was up-to-date- responded.

"I want initial feeds in 45 minutes. No more."

"Sir."

As the turian turned to relay the orders, Arshna went through the usual weapons-check data, the fleet readiness data, as well as updates on the other task forces in the Blitz.

The salarian comm officer called out, "Captain Arshna! Priority message from the _Ice Shard, _sender: Elanos Haliat."

Grunting slightly, Arshna walked over to the comm terminal. "Arshna, code Delta-Bravo Three Two Seven"

A beep indicated online status.

A human face, lines from years of hardship and stress filled the screen.

"Captain Arshna. You will be receiving a special guest quite soon. I hope you treat him well."

Arshna's brows furrowed, but his head tilted left.

"A guest, General?" Haliat loved the show of military titles, being a power-hungry, but charismatic, brigand.

"Yes. Goes by the name of Belloq. He's the deadliest sniper in the Terminus, and he's going to help out your ground team."

"Forgive my questioning, but what will one sniper- however good I am sure he is- do for us?"

"Simple. First he will..._ advise _you on tactics. He will also be supporting the assault."

Arshna grew slightly more confused, but was careful not to offend the man. "I still don't see what sets this particular sniper apart."

"This particular sniper lost a father- who _used _to be the deadliest in the Terminus- a few years back. On Mindoir." Haliat seemed to be losing his patience with the captain.

Arshna had heard some reports about a slave ring assaulting Mindoir, then being essentially wiped out on the ground.

Arshna waited a beat for Haliat to continue, still not quite drawing the connection.

"Lost a father on Mindoir at the hands of a young yokel, to be exact. Name of Shepard. It just so happens there is a brevet-Lieutenant Commander Matthew Shepard, same name, age and description, and suspiciously has a combat specialization of Infiltrator, in charge of one of the planetary militia regiments."

Comprehension finally dawned for the captain. "When should we..."

"Urgently: Shuttle has just dropped from FTL. With haste and apology: Should I allow him on?" The dock officer called out to the captain.

"Yes, yes." Arshna barked.

"With deference: Sir."

"Haliat out." Abruptly, static filled the screen, and Arshna shut down the display with a wave.

A few minutes later, measured bootsteps were heard, in a steady crescendo, approaching the bridge. As the command partition opened, Arshna suddenly was staring into some of the most lifeless eyes he had ever witnessed. Four black pools, shifting minutely, sucking any warmth from the contact. A polymer rifle case was held in his left hand, sheathing a custom-designed Mamba, and an overclocked Paladin pistol was strapped low to his right leg. Slowly moving his eyes about the room, gauging, the sniper finally sniffed and ground out, "Wheres my next ride?"

Arshna quickly beckoned to his hanar bridge-aide to relieve Belloq of his burden. The sniper needed only squint his eyes and raise the right corner of his lip, while tilting his head right, to cause the jelly-being to oscillate into a variety of different red and orange hues.

"Ah, its great to have you here with us, I, uh, heard..."

"My ride to the planet." The harsh voice, not unlike a blade being drug through thick wood, raised slightly higher. His head tilted rightward.

"Well, we'll be microjumping in-system in an hour or so to hold the defensive advantage for whenever they respond in force. From then it will be a mere thirty minute ride down atmo."

"I'll wait here. Wheres the briefing pit? I want any and all feeds routed to me until I touch down."

Arshna quickly pointed out the necessary bridge crew and stations for the requests.

"Oh, and another thing." The blade was deep in the wood, as the voice's temperature dropped even lower, "Haliat would like to know why didn't you just microjump all the way in after coming out of FTL, _then_ release the troops?"

"Oh, well, hah, that was my own touch. We figured we wouldn't be detected in the fringes, then the shuttles would take them by swarm. And he was just on the line with..."

"Unacceptable. They read the radiation burst as you jumped in. Haliat is not the type of man to accept failure to comply with his orders."

Arshna's hand had crept toward his concealed sidearm as soon as the sniper had mentioned the changed tactic.

With a flash, the sniper reached for his sidearm, arm moving quickly as the hawk dives.

Arshna had unsecured the small holdout and was bringing it around, moving quickly as the shark lunges.

What he did not see was the knife that had appeared in Belloq's left hand, rifle case having been dropped, moving quickly as the snake strikes.

The first slash cut the major artery in the captain's neck, then four stabs removed the eyes. The economy of each stroke ensured the captain would stay conscious for at least 30 seconds, and would know as the deepest darkness drew him in, his soul would be stuck in his body forever.

Eye-kabob still gripped in his right hand, the sniper turned to the hanar aide. "You. You're in charge of this element. Now get me on-planet." Pulling the organic optics off the blade with his teeth then consuming them, Belloq addressed the crew.

"Incompetency, failure to adhere to orders, or insubordination will _not _be tolerated. This is too important to play like an asari sleepover."

"This one... acknowledges, sir."

**Elysium, 1****st**** - 4****th**** Elysium Combat Regiment Armory, 1600 Local Time**

"Get your war gear on! We don't have all day! The faster you gear up, the more lives we save!" So I was being a little harsh, but I needed my troops to _move_. We had two hours to mobilize, then a mere four hours to make a working strategy, and then we needed the remainder to implement our plan. The usually-sterile armory, all linoleum and halide lighting- was now humid and hot from the movement of so many bodies packed in and preparing.

I glanced over at Garcia, reading the man's resolve. He just stared stonily ahead, occasionally patting someone or barking an order. His regiment's territory was slated to be the first struck, and he had a lot of open ground to cover.

Finally it was my turn to get my 'war gear'. The weapons I maintained and carried everyday were training models, not the real standard-issue kit. They fired well enough, but they were factory-made to only be used as 'wadcutters'. As in, there was no real workaround to them refusing to fire when pointed or aimed close to an organic body.

I opened my officer's locker to retrieve my real weapons. I took one look inside, and let out an exasperated groan. _Of all the days, of all the pranks... _Apparently it was tradition for new techs when they wrote their first hacking program, to get into some places they shouldn't and pull some mild shenanigans. Mild shenanigans, in this case, meant a pink sniper rifle, purple assault rifle, green shotgun, and yellow pistol. _Good thing there's a real life war scenario right now or there'd be hell to pay in KP for a month. _

Eventually, I just strapped on the armaments, figuring if I got some of them to laugh, it might ease some tensions.

Filing our region's four regiments into our wardroom, really just the lecture hall with the maps and sensors installed and activated, I took the forefront with my fellow N6 officers, Garcia, Miller, and Krause, conversing with them before addressing the militia.

"I just talked to the governer a few minutes ago. He may just be the smartest politician I've seen. He gave us the go-ahead, carte blanche, to defend the colony. I've transmitted basic defensive strategies we collated to the other groups, now we need to refine our own." The governer had, indeed, relinquished defensive duties after a nice, long discussion with the Diplomat.

"Shepard, How are we going to counter the attack if we have all open ground?" Garcia whispered fiercely into my ear, his breathing heavy, sweat running from his brow. His 'rut mission' from the N5 had been a small cell suppression, and now on the eve of true combat, was starting to doubt himself.

"Hey, man, stay frosty. Don't let your troops see your doubts. Push them aside. Focus on the immediate problem. Remember what I said- the attackers will fear you for a reason. These men will respect you for a reason. Remember that reason, treasure it, and live it." I saw his eyes snap forward, his posture stiffening.

"Sir!"

"We're equals right now, Garcia." Miller reminded him.

Krause cut to the point: "Ok, so going back to his original question, how _are _we going to cover the open ground?"

I pt on a tight smile. "What, never heard of the sapping tunnels they put in when the colony was founded? I had an engineer team check for collapses and weak points, the sewer lines are all intact, as well as a few hunter paths."

Essentially, some of the colony founders had needed a safe way to traverse the snowy plains to get to a safe sewage plant, and hunting grounds. They had bored through the surprisingly thin permafrost, and set up tunnels to move around without having to chance the ice and snow of the open plains. Manhole-analogous service entrances/exits were along the lines, allowing good ambush points.

"What I'm going to need you to do, Garcia, is split your regiment up into a diversion force- they will need to be your combat specialists, armor, and the like. They will entrench as quickly as possible at these points..." I transmitted a map of the areas, "...which should allow the sappers a good field of fire for when they pop out behind the advancing enemies. Now take your regiment, and make it happen, doubletime!"

Garcia snapped up and addressed the mass of militia. "Second regiment! Fall in by platoon! Stand by for deployment orders!" His men stood up, fell in, then departed, getting briefed on the run.

"Krause, I need you in the forest. Your regiment contains more specialists, and I know you've been training them in guerrilla tactics. The best thing I can think of is have your main force _here, _then have two platoons abreast intercept the projected advance _here. _They should position themselves in a defensive line, as per Terminus tactics."

"Hastings, sir?" Krause ventured.

"You don't need to call me sir. And yes, exactly. Your two platoons will retreat in a disorganized fashion, inviting the attackers forward. Winnow them out, position your snipers high to take out the officers.. The rest will have an advantage William the Conqueror didn't- they can flank and encircle."

Krause sucked in a breath. "Hoo, boy. Let's do this." Turning to face his regiment, he called out for deployment. "First Regiment! Fall in by platoon, prepare to move out!"

That left one more decision. "Miller, do you think you're regiment can hold the mountain passes? I'm mainly worried about airstrikes coming through there, and your troops have the heavy AAA experience."

Miller grinned. "No Mantis or Fire Ant swarm will make it through. I'll park my Grizzlies on the peaks, and put my Mako in that gorge there. Mobile missile platforms in these caves, and supporting lines of fire along here. We will hold."

He called out his regiment, the Third, leaving only mine. I called the Officer forward.

"Ok, Fourth. We're slightly ahead of the game, we've mobilized on time, gotten the necessary permissions, and the other commanders are taking basic strategy and applying it. Its our turn." Pausing for a breath, I looked each man and woman in the eye. Some had false bravado, determined not to show 'weakness' in front of their friends and battle buddies. Others wore their heart on their sleeves, looking forlorn, anxious, or straight terrified. Nervous tics abounded: tapping, gum chewing, drumming, humming, eyes darting about.

"We are entrusted with _the _ most important station. We are tasked with securing the residential district. We are _the last _line of defense on this continent- the last line for your spouses, children, mothers, fathers, neighbors, sweethearts. If the enemy makes it through any other line, our territory will be their target. There _will be no falling back _if the fight gets taken here. But take heart: the reason you will be fighting is not just a paycheck, nor the promise of loot, nor a nebulous cause built of speciesism and ignorance, but of _love. _Love of your planet, love of your fellow colonists, love of your families. Look inside yourselves, find that kernel of love, and use it. Use it like a fission reaction. Let that kernel fling forth and start a chain reaction, a chain reaction that will allow you to _stand firm _in the face of the enemy, fighting them for every inch of ground, for every step, for every breath. You will stand firm because the darkness driving them cannot compete with the intensity of the light you will bring!" I again looked at everyone's expressions, most of which were now resolved, calm, or even peaceful.

"Combat Battalion, stand by for company orders. Assault Company, listen up! Heavy Platoon, your squads will hole up on the ends of the main boulevards. Charger Platoon, take the town square, hole up in basements and wait for assault orders. Sniper Platoon, I want sniper elements in overlapping fields of fire, variable heights and dispositions. I need one squad as Eagles, another as Rats, another as Snakes." _Roof shooters, room shooters, street-level shooters. _"Mechanized Company, I need arty around this CP, dug-in Grizzlies, and the Makos ready for fast attack. Relief Company, I'm activating you as logistical support, ammo running, wounded carrying, and quick relief." The officers of each addressed company nodded and sallied their men to begin deployment.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, I addressed the next portion. "Specialist Company, stand by! Engineer Platoon, I want you to start setting up turrets, calibrating the emplacements. Rig ballistae and onagers if you have to, you have my blessing for creating all those improvised weapons you've been designing. Adept platoon, reinforce Heavy Platoon. I want full coverage, maximum damage. Do not hold back, and make sure you have the good MREs. Guard Platoon, I want coverage of all important buildings- the shelters, the food storage. Fortify at your discretion, the main idea is not to draw attention to them."

Specialists rose under their officers and headed out. One more company left to deploy. "Command company: I need Logistics Platoon to coordinate supply lines with the other regiments. Comm platoon, establish secondary communications and defend main transmission towers. Command Platoon, with me. Fan out by squad, hold the command post perimeter."

I stood in front of the holo display of the colony, showing the different current deployments by regiment.

_I helped beat you bastards back before, I can do it again._

Almost on a whim, I set up the holochess board, and positioned King's pawn to E4. I then opened a challenge frequency. This would indeed be interesting.

**High Orbit above Elysium, Cruiser **_**Polar Wind**_**1900 Local Time**

Balloq noticed a strange buzzing through his omnitool, linked to the holotank aboard the _Ice Shard _so that he could have strategic and tactical feeds for when he was on the ground. He himself was about to debark, boarding a shuttle to join with the body of Blitz Element Shell. He opened the notification, and a human face and a holochess setup appeared, with the white having taken its first move. Grinning nastily, he accepted the challenge frequency. "Human. I take it you're the Shepard I'll be destroying." Savoring the moment of shock that flitted across the marine's face, Belloq initiated the Scholar's defense, King's Pawn to E5. This human whelp probably thought he was hot stuff.

Instantly, another move appeared, White King's Knight to F3, threatening his piece. "I see you have been briefed well. Tell me, why did you come out of FTL outsystem?"

Growling, and baring his teeth, Belloq moved Queen's Pawn to D6. "That has since been rectified, though it is none of your business, scum."

The human audaciously checked him with Kings Bishop to B5. "If you are going to be making these kinds of mistakes, why not save your men the trouble of dying now and withdrawing?"

Belloq countered easily with Queen's Bishop's Pawn to C3. "Because you do not deserve to be here, upstart."

The human retreated his bishop to C4, and Belloq responded with Queen's Bishop to G8, threatening the White Knight with no reprisal. "Are you so sure? Are you so spoonfed by the types in the Terminus you can't even see how insular you are?"

Belloq grinned. Now he had the human. He would sacrifice a bishop, but he would have the knight... His opponent moves Queen's Pawn to D3. Without hesitation, Belloq captured the knight, and the White queen captured the bishop at F3. "Why us, when we have done nothing to you?" The human entreated.

Triumphantly, Belloq moved Queen's Knight's Pawn to B5, to entrap the exposed bishop. "You are not worthy of even your paltry place in galactic society. You will become our personal slave race, after we are done ravaging your pathetic colony. I will personally remove _your_ head and keep it with me."

However, the human's queen shot up to capture King's Bishop's Pawn at F7, checkmating Belloq. Shock filled the batarian sniper, eyes darting over the board. He had chosen to threaten the bishop, trying to scare the scum into collapsing his formation, but the queen had been the real problem. In his experience, most humans tried to rescue their 'important' pieces and not commit their powerful ones outside a decent formation.

"Your blind hatred will be your demise, buttercup bitch. Shepard, out."

Belloq forced his rage at the human out of his mind. Emotions didn't steady shots. They interfered with them.

Stepping onboard the shuttle once more, Belloq began reviewing his order of battle, confident to defeat the human and the pathetic yokels under his command.

**Elysium, 1****st**** -4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Wardroom 1930 Local Time**

A cheer went up among the command elements present to witness the match. Dropping the Scholar for now, I stepped back from the comm booth. The ranking comm officer was already sending a copy of the transmission to all squad leaders, ostensibly as a morale boost. Something still bothered me, though- even the extremist batarian slavers didn't necessarily show naked hostility like that enemy had. It sounded... personal, almost.

Well, he appeared capable enough an officer, so it could be he was related to one of the officers I had popped... back on Mindoir.

I closed my eyes, letting the Soldier deal with the flood of emotions evoked simply by thinking of my homeworld, turning the emotional pain into fuel for leading- and in a short amount of time- fighting. Would that place always come back like this?

Irrelevant, I needed to ensure the other continents were prepared.

"Brown! Connect me to the other N6 officers."

"Sir!" The comm officer began linking command post holos, and soon everyone was present, in full battle array.

Without pausing to allow for awkward dead air, I launched immediately into a sitrep check. "Garcia: report."

"All forces entrenched and supplied. Sapper force has taken up positions."

"Krause: report."

"All set up in the backwoods. Plenty of cover, and my snipers are snug as a bug in their roosts."

"Miller: report."

"Parked, locked, and loaded. Radar, Ladar, and EM scanning toggle-active. Anti air protocols initialized on mechanized forces."

"We're deployed to defend the main population center here. No one's getting our charges," I stated grimly. "Hogue: report."

"Set to sap in the tunnels. Don't worry, we've swept for gas."

"Good to hear. Riggs?"

"We've got the mining town locked tight."

"Goldwater: report."

"Ah, holding the water port and the warehouse district. Have some SCUBA-rigged troopers in case things get dicey."

"Peoples: report."

"My snipers are deployed in the high rises, anti air active. No problems for financial district."

"Finally: Mohann: report."

"Capitol district secured. Residences locked down, civvies evacuated to bunkers."

"Good to hear. Remember what I said earlier, stick to your training, and we'll repel these brigands. Now, I'm not sure how many of you are spiritual, but I'd like to take a moment for a prayer."

All the N6s bowed their heads, some folded their hands, others closed their eyes and looked upwards.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do Thou O Prince of the Heavenly Host- by the Divine Power of God- cast into hell, Satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the galaxy seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

Everyone again looked up. "Godspeed, comrades." With a nod, the signal was cut.

"Now lets meet these bastards and thrust them back into hell."

**Elysium, Blitz Element Shell, stratospheric entry 2345 Local Time**

"All Shell elements, this is Belloq. Code is: Flechette. Repeat: Flechette."

Now the tight formations of element "Shell" would seemingly burst apart, each main group now rushing to their assigned drop points. It was too cost-ineffective to blanket a planet with attackers, but by concentrating on key areas, a world could be won and lost.

Belloq set his visage into a feral snarl. The oafish human would pay, his father would be avenged, as the screams of this commander filled the air. He would record it, first a shot to the lower spine to incapacitate, and then he would take his time with the knife. Oh yes he would. He would remove the inferior organic optics, flay open the gut, tear the stomach chamber... _This human will not pass easily_.

A sudden lurching marked the beginning of the final descent. Belloq grabbed his kit and stood with the rest of the squad in the shuttle, awaiting the dropoff.

As he jumped out of the shuttle with the squad, he looked off into the distance, seeing traces of Anti air and small arms fire crossing, along with the short-lives flares of kinetic barriers, the pulses of Mantis chin cannons firing. The night's damp chill allowed faint sounds of the distant battle to reach their ears.

"We head for the farming residential district. We spearhead a way in, and await the main bulk to reach us. Questions?"

A fresh looking asari raised her hand. "I have a..."

She never got to finish, as Belloq drew his Paladin sidearm and shot her through the head in a blindingly fast sequence.

"Unacceptable. I briefed you for a reason. Now lets move out, spread out twenty-five meters abreast."

**Elysium, 1****st**** -4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Wardroom 0030 Local Time**

Things were _not turning out well at all._ Naturally, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy- but this was a whole new level of _fubar, _a _snafu _of mind-boggling proportions.

Most regimental elements were holding out against the assault, but I had underestimated the savage and absolute brutality of the attacking forces.

Word came through that Mantis wings carrying high explosive rockets had collapsed the mining tunnels that Hogue and his sappers were stationed in. Riggs was forced to commit fully to defense by the onslaught, and was unable to mount any type of rescue while under aerial fire.

The Capitol had been firebombed from the sky, Mohann had caught the edge of a flame sheet and had run through the street, screaming and begging for death as the chemical flame ate away at him, until a sniper took pity and ended his misery.

Closer to home base, the forest had suffered saturation fire from the sky, and the main camp had been encircled before the first diversionary ambush could be mounted.

The mountain approach defemders had been most successful, Miller's AAA picking out gunships and shuttles as soon as they appeared, but the great numbers still meant some penetrated the barrier.

In the farming fields, Garcia had managed to inflict first blood on the attackers, but as ground troops advanced, they dropped grenades down the service entrances, frying ambushers who had stacked up, roasting and peppering them as they stood.

Peoples and Goldwater fared slightly better, Goldwater's regiment not coming under attack, and People's area being left mostly alone. _Probably so they can loot the buildings later._

My omnitool pinged.

"Shepard, its Miller! Requesting supply drop! We need power cells and med supplies ASAP!"

"Feed me the position and I'll relay a logistical team." The Officer set up the link, received the data, then sent it to the proper supply team. A modified Trident roared into the night, weaving through the streams of fire.

Suddenly, the shouts and shots sounded closer. A flood of new reports reached the tac screen, showing enemy massed infantry heading into the residential zone.

Watching the aerial cameras, I saw the Eagle, Rat, and Snake snipers go to work, picking off any officers they saw. _But they are falling for the trap! The officers are staying quiet, letting their seconds do the shouting. That way the officers stay alive, and they then determine the location... _Rockets suddenly streaked into a building, and the comm feed from Sniper Team 3 was filled with jarring shrieks of agony. Clenching my fist and squeezing my eyes, I slapped the master override for that frequency. Nothing could be done for Sniper Team 3.

I looked back at the Command Platoon XO. "Sergeant! Have the civvies been transferred here yet?"

"Sir! I sent the Platoon to move them, I haven't heard back from them. Should be here in 5 or so."

"Alright." The Officer filed the datum away, but the Soldier was leery of the silence.

Charger Platoon had boiled out of the basement system, troops trained for quick assaults and shock, mainly vanguard biotics and agile soldiers.

They seemed to be pushing back the flow, but then several just started dropping in quick succession.

"Chargers, this is Shepard. Watch out for snipers! Any Eagles have eyes?"

"Sniper Team 13, catching occasional glimpses of a sniper, no cle-" The signal cut off.

"Spotter 13! Principal just took a rou-"

I opened up my omnitool. "Garcia! Shepard. Come in!"

Blurry, garbled message came through. "Deci... hea... ur... way... rry... co... s...em..."

"Garcia, talk to me! Get that piece of shit working and give me a sitrep!"

"Too... man... la... gre...de... nk... Sir."

Checking the close up map of the fields, a painfully small amount of 'friendly' units were left, with an inexorable drive of 'enemy' icons advancing.

The sound of a distant explosion reverberated through the wardroom, and the 'friendly' icons representing Garcia's last redoubtable position winked out.

"Dammit!" I yelled, the Soldier channeling the fury, jumping and biotically punching the ground in a rare display of raw emotion. Now the formation held up in the farming fields were dropping their chemical seeds, rendering the area non-arable for the time being. What was worse, they were now moving to crush the district defenders from the other side.

"Assault Company! Invaders to the east, ETA in fifteen!"

"I don't know if we can hold against another wave!" Came the harried voice of the company commander.

Looking out, I saw the line of evacuated civilians reaching the compound.

Assault Company was being shredded, trading their lives to maintain the illusion that the civilians were still in the district. Each one that fell- _they fall at my orders, under my command, on my watch -_took a little piece of my confidence away.

"Acknowledged, Assault Actual. Begin a withdrawal, tangential to the compound, but put both groups at your forward arc."

"Sir!"

For all my earlier piss and vinegar, trash talking the enemy commander, soundly defeating him in a chess game, the Soldier was starting to doubt the Officer's wisdom.

"Miller, talk to me! Whats the air situation?" Hopefully he wasn't bogged down in the south.

"Shepard, we've shot down or had pass just about all the shuttles and gunships that are in our area. Can't say for sure when the rest or any reinforcements may get here."

"Can you spare any armor?"

"I can peel off maybe two Grizzlies. That bad?" He didn't sound too strained.

"Its basically fubar for Garcia, survivors from his regiment are retreating this way; Krause and his are fighting for their lives to the north. I've got the civvies holed up here at the compound, for now, but no telling how long we'll be safe. Whats more, they've got a sniper picking off my teams."

Miller seemed to think on it.

"I'll ride over in one of the Grizzlies, I'll relieve you on strategic, you can go hunt that fucker down."

I grinned. "See you in 30".

**Elysium, West of residential district, 0100 Local Time**

Belloq smirked behind his rifle, dropping a routing engineer. _In the kidney, good._ He had repelled the first true counterattack by the vanguards, quick-sniping from his perch. He had found a gentle hill with snowfall just deep enough to hide comfortably in, that allowed him a good view of the defenders. It also meant he could review the tactical and strategic feeds from time to time without fear of discovery.

He had that function open, reviewing the troop movements in the immediate area.

Soon they would smash through the city, a scab defacing the otherwise beautiful planet. He settled back into his sniper pose, seeking more targets...

There. A sniper element, no doubt shifting their field of fire.

Taking great care, he adjusted himself, and sent three shots in succession screaming towards the team. The first shot shattered the spotting scope, throwing the spotter forward and dropping their barriers with the impact. The next destroyed the rifle, and spun the principal sniper behind the spotter... perfectly lined up for a double-headshot, which the third round accomplished.

_Humans. So easy to predict. _

Surely the human officer, the one with overconfidence, would come out to play soon.

**Elysium, 1****st****- 4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Wardroom, 0139 Local Time**

The roar of a Grizzly subsided outside, and a few seconds later, the clack of armored boots sprinting across the floor hit my ears.

"Shepard! I shot straight through the middle of town, your companies were already nearing the center. Had to engage a Fire Ant on the way over, but otherwise ready to relieve you. Go nail him to the dirt."

I gave a tight smile, boosted by Miller's confidence.

"You bet. Make sure to distribute the crap sidearms, it'll do wonders."

Sketching a salute, Miller ran off to the tac screen to start issuing orders.

I donned my sniper's visor, checked my equipment, and headed out into the night. Pausing at the edge of the compound overlooking the approach, I brought up the highest magnification, observing the ebb and flow of the battle. A routing squad, moving a heavy weapon to a better emplacement near the front, was shot through the legs, seemingly by a phantom.

The range was far too great for me to even have a chance of spotting, let alone hitting, the sniper, so I plotted my advance.

Move too quickly, get spotted. Move too slowly, unacceptable losses.

Praying that my mulicolored weapons wouldn't give me away ignominiously, I started off into the night.

**Elysium, West of residential district, 0153 Local Time**

The batarian sniper checked his strategic feeds, and realized that things weren't looking as good as they had in the initial sorties. Air superiority was shifting every ten minutes, with hunter/killer wing pairs of Tridents popping up unexpectedly to hose down the Fire Ants and Mantises. On the other continents, the elements had chewed down most of the defenders, but were finally approaching combat-loss groupings themselves in some areas. Really, the best work was being done here, completely annihilating one regiment, decimating another, and worrying away at a third. The one stationed in the mountains would be the last to fall, but they could easily be starved out.

Suddenly, he noticed a large exodus-in-formation from the district. The soldiers were fleeing! While it was possible some civilians were with them, not all of them could possibly be gone.

"Code is Ripper. Repeat: Ripper." Belloq murmured into the comm, releasing the commanders in the area to sweep the district, and liquidate the area.

The footage that would be taken of eviscerated bodies, burned and ravished females, and screaming children would strike fear into any human that dared encroach beyond their system.

Belloq began to move, determined to see some of it firsthand.

**Elysium, North Northeast of residential district, 0200 Local Time**

I had stealthed, and found a rhythm of stepping, breathing, and listening that would work in the terrain. I traversed efficiently, and dropped to recharge the cloak on occasion. Almost to a dogleg switch on my approach, I heard throaty batarian voices.

Immediately dropping, I listened and heard three figures approaching.

My breath burned in my lungs, a wave of heat washed over me as I went completely silent.

One, who sounded the heaviest arm, came running towards my position. I recloaked quickly, pivoted to the right so as to be behind the charger's trajectory, opened my omnitool's blade program. As he got to 5 feet away, I lunged up and forward, the Soldier channeling all the frustration into this one move. Midair, I cocked the blade, ready to thrust it into the target's head.

As the target connected with the ground, I began the forward killing stab...

"Ahh! Dont killmedontkillmedontkillmeIs wear...!"

Immediately, I arrested the plunge, burying the temporary blade in the dirt millimeters from the target's ear.

"Fiske? Is that you?" I decloaked, closed my omniblade, and stood up, helping the shocked private to his feet.

Shaking, and not just from cold, he looked at me. "F-f-f-fuck y-you, S-sir. I s-s-soiled m-my arm-m-or."

"Who are your two friends? What are you doing over here? Aren't you with Guard? Breathe, dammit! Deep. There. Compose yourself, soldier, and report!"

"I w-was with Guard, sir. Th-these two hadn't left, and were caught by Sergeant Banks. Apparently they're ANN field reporters, and were just here to film the upcoming festival."

By that time, the two had trudged over to our position.

I turned. "I mean this with all due respect, but you're compromising me and yourselves."

"Hey, we can take care of ourselves!" The woman reporter huffed, crossing her arms. The male cinematographer just looked about, quivering slightly.

I groaned. Great, now I've got a scared kid-soldier, a woman half-scorned, and a pansy photographer. And my men were still fighting, still dying, and the enemy sniper was still killing.

"Let me guess, Fiske. Banks sent you to escort these two so they'd stop pestering him and getting into fields of fire."

"I'll have you know, mister, I have ANN credentials that give me access to any crime scene, battlefield..."

The Sniper was not having it. With another groan, I drew my yellow-sprayed pistol- the Scholar in the rear taking note of the butterflies and smiley faces along the side of the barrel- and promptly shoved it in the woman's face.

"_This _is what a gun in your face feels like! My men are going through this _every minute._ I dropped the pistol and raised my pink sniper rifle -the Scholar cataloged the stick figure little girls apparently playing with puppies and flowers- and held it a few feet away from the woman. "_This _is what it feels like to be under the sights of a sniper! My men are going through this _every second._ You _can't handle_ _this_. So I suggest you take your escort, get to the compound, and _stay put _with the rest of the civilians, _ma'am._"

"I will report you for this flagrant display of aggression! You have no rights..."

"I've had enough of your recalcitrant objurations!" With that, the Soldier allowed my fist to cock back to the ocean, dark energy consolidating behind the knuckles, and drive forward- with the leverage provided by hip swivel torsion- into the face of the reporter. Who subsequently collapsed like so much meat.

I looked at Fiske and the cameraman. "Heres some rope, make a travois. Oh, and clean that up before you freeze certain parts off." I leered at the dark spot appearing on the man's trousers.

_That felt good. It was utterly wrong, but it felt good. Now to take it to the enemy. _

**Elysium, Western outskirts of residential district, 0225 Local Time**

Belloq snarled at the empty air. So this was the White Knight move, then. Relinquishing the small town... He consulted his screens. So that way lay the compound.

Giving the necessary orders, he diverted the bulk of his current forces towards the compound. _Strange that it was never painted a target originally. _

An incoming signal buzzed his omnitool.

"What?" He growled.

"Forgive this one, but the human fleet has arrived. Positioning to backdrop major centers."

"Have they launched troops?"

"This one regretfully does not know. It is doubtful, but indeed possible."

"Concentrate fire on their flagship. Damn the cruisers and frigates."

"This one acknowledges."

With that, the hanar acting-captain signed off.

Climbing into a good perch, Belloq scanned his field of fire. He caught sight of a human between cloaking moments...

_Is this human truly so brazen...?_

The batarian doublechecked his optics, ran a quick diagnostic, then did a small eye exercise, then reacquired the target, to be absolutely sure.

_And by that, your death begins._

Settling in, Belloq found his natural point of aim, sighted down his intended target, and began the trigger squeeze on the now-stationary human...

**Elysium, North Northwestern outskirts of residential district, 0231 Local Time**

I paused, brought my sniper's rifle up, and scanned the perimeter of the buildings. The Sniper could _sense _the watchful gaze of my opponent, somewhere...

A small local rodent, most likely scared by all the screams and gunfire that had been waxing and waning for a few hours now, saw me sitting motionless, and must have figured I was a safe haven. It skittered and jumped full-tilt, surprising me and breaking my concentration. I twisted sideways without thinking to dislodge my adversary.

Suddenly the boom of a sniper rifle split through the air, and a puff of instantly vaporized snow went up just a few centimeters from where my torso had been. A secondary flash betrayed the type of round.

_High explosive, custom modded to provide extra stunning and drop power._

While the move had saved my life, I was unable to see the muzzle flare, and my ears could only point at a cluster of buildings.

_Lets play, buttercup. _I scampered into the relative safety of the buildings, taking refuge underneath a stairwell. An uneasy feeling of deja vu filled me at the situation.

**Vetus system, Ecliptic approach on Elysium, Cruiser **_**Tampa **_**0229 Local Time**

Rear Admiral Peter Mikhailovich stood aboard his flag cruiser, smartly dressed and posture perfect. There were reports of an assault in force on this colony, and his Scout Flotilla was there to assess and report on the status of the hostile fleet.

_And maybe this will be what I need to get to upper-half Rear Admiral. _Pushing the dark thought from the forefront of his mind, Mikhailovich ordered his frigate packs to disperse wide and approach from the poles and virtual hemi corners relative to Elysium. He kept his five cruisers in formation headed on the perfect ecliptic, straight for the defensive formation.

He ordered the flag forward, kinetic barriers at full front.

"All ahead full, elevator down one-thousandth degree"

"Ahead full, one-thousandth degree down, aye." The helmsman acknowledged.

Sure there were no true control surfaces in a vacuum, modern ships just adjusted thruster modules or activated correctional jets, but tradition dies hard in navies, especially when one is commanded by an Admiral indoctrinated in surface navy tradition.

The almost miniscule shift 'downward' would alter their flight path enough that as soon as they came in range of the big guns of the enemy, the enemy would be aiming higher than they actually were, The same effect could be achieved through a 'Crazy Ivan' analogous maneuver, but it made flotilla cohesion harder.

_A few converted freighters, two refitted cruisers, surplus frigates, patched up fighters..._

"Open a line to the Fifth, Mr. Trell."

"Opening a line, aye." The comm officer established the link, and the impeccable form of Admiral Hackett filled the projection plate.

"Admiral Hackett: ladar scans of hostile forces show only symbolic strength, mainly surplus and retrofitted vessels. Detecting: two cruisers, eighteen, that is one-eight frigates, thirty-two, that is three-two freighters, and estimate four wings of fighter and interceptor craft. Recommendation is to allow the 63rd Scout Flotilla to engage and destroy."

Hackett seemed to mull the numbers over, calculating what he knew of the tactics of both sides. "Well, Peter, I'd be stupid to order you back, as you've probably already deployed your wolf packs and cruisers in your cactus formation."

Mikhailovich grinned. "I can assure you that we will hold the vacuum, and deploy our onboard contingents as soon as possible."

Nodding and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Hackett spoke, "See if you can get us any intel on what the hell is going on down there. We haven't heard much since the governor's last distress call. See to it that you drive away these raiders. Hackett, out."

Mikhailovich smartly saluted the virtual form of his commanding officer as the transmission ended.

"Deploy all fighter craft to screen your formations, umbrella formation Charlie. Deploy interceptor craft, orders are to follow Contingency Corkscrew. Wolf packs, when you are within range, Akelas may target at will. Cruisers, fall into Assault Contingency Golf; overlap our shields front. Take only sure shots of opportunity. We don't want to hit our own on the ground. All marine forces, stand by to launch."

General orders given, the admiral started slowly pacing the command deck in front of his chair, awaiting the actual engagement.

**Elysium, Northwestern outskirts of residential district, 0234 Local Time**

I quickly darted building-to-building, always at a different speed, always at a different angle. I needed a way to draw fire again, to hunt down where exactly my opponent was holed up. I darted into a storefront, looking around for something to use. And, just my luck, it was a lingerie shop and adult toy store. Glancing at some of the names of the items made me wish I hadn't... _I know this is a farming community, but REALLY? 'Kissin Cuzzins', 'Bro Hug'... Focus, focus, focus. _Mercifully, the Sniper walked forward, pushing my abject revulsion away and replacing with calculation.

_That mannequin, that DD cup, those bolts of cloth..._

Quickly I fashioned a dummy, used a bright pink brassiere to be held like a rifle, and wrapped blue and green terrycloth around it in an approximation of armor.

Realizing the brassiere would never stay in a rifle carry position, I reluctantly took several long beige polymer tools and adhered them to the mannequin as arms.

_I'm unsure whether to be proud of my ingenuity or not..._

I grabbed the decoy and headed back outside, hoping to be able to spot the sniper soon.

**Elysium, Western Quarter of residential district, 0242 Local Time**

Breathing open-mouthed to hide the sound, Belloq darted through the streets, having moved since his last shot.

He started slightly at a clanging, but it was only a feline jumping onto an unstable stack of dishware.

_Ah, there! _A diner, two story. Living quarters atop, no doubt. Storming inside the diner, sweeping his Paladin, Belloq checked the floor clear before running upstairs and taking a position.

**Elysium, Western Quarter of residential district, 0246 Local Time**

Still holding on to the decoy and my rifle, I cloaked, and heard a door creaking slightly in the wind. The Sniper grew suspicious, and ever so slowly brought up the scope. Sure enough, there was a partially-opened door to the cafe. Five seconds left on the cloak, I quickly positioned the mannequin and took a near position right inside an alleyway.

**Elysium, Second Floor of Clem's EZ Diner, 0248 Local Time**

The unmistakable flash-shimmer of a cloak field attracted the eyes of Belloq, who whipped his rifle on-target... _Pah! The human has a decoy set up. Mannequins don't have eyes, brainless scum. _He sighted on the spine of the _real _Shepard- _also the one not holding an article of clothing as a weapon- _and began the deadly trigger squeeze.

The spring broke, and the process of shooting began; finished almost instantly. The killing grain tore into the target, spraying red and white organic matter, the horrendous injury eliciting a hellish scream from the now-paralyzed human.

**Elysium, Defensive Geosynchronous High Orbit, Cruiser **_**Polar Wind **_**0235 Local Time**

"This one believes all fighter craft should be launched! Send all interceptors to disrupt their screens, and task fighter squadrons for cruiser screening. Concentrate freighters on their cruisers, keep the frigates on the lookout. Take any and all shots of opportunity facing away from the planet!"

Ammonor, the hanar acing-captain, had picked up a few things from serving in the marauder's navy, but he soon found out he was severely outmatched.

"All units, fire on the cruiser formation!"

As sheets of mass effect fire poured into the projected locations of the cruisers, Ammorr eagerly watched the IFF readings.

Except none changed; even though the battle computer was showing projected hits, none were actually connecting in reality.

"Enkindlers damn them! What is this? This one commands cruisers and freighters to approach and engage!"

**Vetus system, Ecliptic approach on Elysium, Cruiser **_**Tampa **_**0240 Local Time**

"This is Akela Alpha. We have rear approach on frigate cluster designate Bravo."

"Akela Bravo. On Charlie."

"Akela Charlie, group Foxtrot."

"Akela Delta, Alpha group."

"Akela Echo, on Delta."

"Akela Foxtrot, painting Echo."

Mikhailovvich studied his screen, silently checking the tactics. By the book."

"This is the Admiral. Akelas are cleared for their prey."

Screening elements suddenly broke off to harass the larger ships and other screening forces, while the Alliance frigates 'knifed' into the inferior pirate frigates and slower freighters.

The Alliance cruisers, having calculated every possibility for the two enemy cruisers, begain firing their forward batteries, utilizing the new quad-barreled batteries that Mikhailovich had bargained dearly for.

The first two salvos, seemingly undending, shattered the primary kinetic buffers of the cruisers, and then the freighter swarm was upon them.

While the freighters were not truly superior on paper, the sheer amount of them along with the slowness of the cruisers, meant that they would be worrisome in another quarter hour.

"Elevate four degrees, turn twenty port, roll five port." The pirate flag cruiser had started to maneuver its strong broadside to the advancing formation, obviously wanting to even the field. Mikhailovich trusted that the other Captains would be competent enough to perform similar maneuvers, moving at slow helix above and about the relative spine of the enemy's spine.

_If he's any good, he should counter defensively, right about..._

The enemy flag indeed took a sharp yaw, evolving the broadside turn into a 180 flip; complementing the move was a downward elevate and roll, presenting aft batteries and shields to a piece of the _Tampa's_ belly cannon.

"Follow him, please. By the book Humpback Whale, roll 180, down 45, yaw 0."

"Rolling 180, down 45, aye."

That would present the _Tampa_'s dorsal batteries to the adversary's dorsal; risky, but given the _Polar Wind_'s first move was broadside, Mikhailovich figured most of the guns were concentrated there instead.

"She's correcting to present broadside!"

"Continue firing, we have no backdrop. By the book Moray, down 90."

"Down 90, aye."

Now all forward batteries and half the broadsides were facing the opponent, while only half their broadside could track the _Tampa._

"Release the Lamprey and the Xyston, two of each."

"Two Lamprey, two Xyston, aye"

Lampreys were named for the hideous aquatic parasite which feeds by latching to a host and sucking its blood. The missiles were designed to deliver crippling EMP and ion bursts to the critical systems until the ship that deployed them was destroyed or cut the signal.

Xystons were a larger version of the fighter- and frigate- utilized Javelin, all of which were still highly experimental.

The dark energy warpheads of the two Xyston missiles screamed into the bridge and the engines respectively, with the Lampreys attaching as a final insult.

Checking his board, Mikhailovich noticed that the other cruisers had amassed fire and destroyed the other, the _Rimefrost_ by its IFF.

"Very well, gentlemen. Now lets swat the horseflies, shall we?"

**Elysium, Second Floor of Clem's EZ Diner, 0249 Local Time**

The screams continued. Belloq grabbed his kit, almost aroused by the sick delight he held in imagining the vengeance that was to be exacted. His father would be able to rest peacefully in another three hours or so.

The Batarian reached the degenerate, quivering sack of flesh and readied his combat knife.

Crouching down, he used the tip of his knife to push aside the cloth...

To find a simple replay device emitting the screams, a high-intensity vibration device causing a foam mannequin to jounce around, fake blood splattered everywhere, with reproductive organ models cradling a rifle.

Standing slowly, with his heart seizing inside him, Belloq heard the coldest, deadest voice imaginable behind him.

"Checkmate, buttercup bitch."

**Elysium, Alley across from Clem's EZ Diner, 0251 Local Time**

The switch had been easy enough. Taking a gambit, I had closed my eyes and switched the rifle at the very last second.

A packet of fake blood, a recorder, and a vibropad- _honestly, if all these things are in demand here at the same place...- _had seen to the rest of the disguise; the sniper's own blindness wrought of hatred had sold the lie.

"Checkmate, buttercup bitch." I growled.

My Armageddon shotgun jumped once with the recoil of the shot, which bored deep into the mid back of my opponent. Wheezing on the ground, he started to make a sound approximating a laugh. "Never... save... civilians...now."

The Officer put it all together. I had been so focused, I hardly noticed that I wasn't dodging or assassinating mercs while hunting this one.

_Oh no... they're headed for..._

The Soldier stopped the despair and the Officer began to reason. _Miller's a good guy, no way he wouldn't have seen this coming._

I started running, headed straight at the advancing marauders, not intending to allow any more innocent lives be taken. _Mine, if need be. But that's what I signed on for. Ironic, really. Survive a batarian slaver attack, go out in a blaze of glory in another._

_Left right left right left right... Come on, Matt. _

Tapping slightly into my limited biotic potential, I nonetheless managed to gain a little bit of speed. I manually activated the hyperoxygenation built into my armor, injecting oxygen-rich fluids into my bloodstream to counter the buildup of lactic acid and reduce my need to breathe rapidly.

Just a few more minutes...

**Elysium, 1****st**** -4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Wardroom 0245 Local Time**

"We have got to _move, now!" _Miller did his best to incite further haste in the scurrying techs, destoying information and packing gear. The main assault force was headed here and he still had over a thousand civilians to catch up with.

Suddenly, he heard a breaching explosion rock the hall.

"Out! Now! I'll cover you! Light the thermite _now!"_

Readying his assault rifle and crouching, Miller popped up and started firing into the swarm of mercs. Mostly batarians, but asari, salarians, turians... _is that an elcor?..._were interspersed. It didn't matter. Blinding, deafening sheets of fire from the front echelon swept into the room, chewing up the cover that Miller was using. He armed his bandolier of grenades and overhand-flung it into the mass, but a salarian disarmed the bunch with a well-placed overload attack. Gritting his teeth, he jumped up, put a deathgrip on the firing stud, determined to sell his life dearly... and was utterly disappointed when after two shots, the overheat alarm sounded.

Another wave of grains ripped into Miller, pocking his armor, opening his skin. Organs ruptures and bones shattered, until he finally sank to the ground, a look of rage plastered on his face.

**Elysium, Aggressive Geosynchronous High Orbit, Cruiser **_**Tampa **_**0245 Local Time**

"Sir! Attempts to communicate with the ground have reached A regiment in a northern forest and a regiment in the southern mountains of the farming continent. Another two regiments report in on the business-centric continent, and scattered reports from the industrial continent. No word from the Capitol, mining district, farming district."

"Very well. Concentrate marine deployments on those checking in."

"Aye aye."

**Elysium, 1****st**** -4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Compound, 0255 Local Time**

I stopped at the gate of the compound. There they all were, looked like their big commander was giving orders for occupation, pursuit, and entrenchment.

I estimated perhaps a combined thousand or two were in the compound.

The Sniper didn't care. _Kill them all._

The Soldier didn't care either. _Protect the civilians at all costs._

The Officer remembered his duty. _The colonists are under my protection._

The Scholar recalled various battles where a numerically inferior force had prevailed. _Horatius at the bridge._

The Diplomat figured the Terminus groups could go fuck themselves.

Stopping for the briefest of moments, sweat running freely, grime congealing on my face, I prayed for strength and deliverance. _Here I come. Hope its better than I expect Up There._

Without a war cry, I charged, and started shooting the sniper rifle.

One, two, three, four fell at a time, barriers down, armor off.

Juking and jinking, I fired from the hip; any direction was target rich.

A line of headshots in a row, a chow line.

I collapsed my sniper rifle as notice was taken to the attack. I opened my assault rifle, and started spraying bursts.

Two a second, three a second, four a second, all falling to the hail of grains. Now the officers have wizened up and mercs are taking cover and charging weapons.

More fall, its a blur. Overheat alarms, toss down the rifle.

Pistol in one hand, shotgun in the other, firing constantly. More and more fall, but like an ant colony, still more file out of the woodwork, seeking to remove this futile and puny attack.

Near misses and hits spang from my barriers. Without thinking, I raise a fist and pull it downward sharply, a biotic barrier appears, absorbing a higher volume of fire.

I cloak on and off, the shotgun has overheated.

I lose myself in the act, running from merc to merc, shooting, bashing, ducking, kicking. I switch my pistol to my left hand, now my omniblade is up in my right, slashing across anyone in range. My biotic barrier collapses on itself, spent from all the bullets .

Now modded bullets come flying, igniting the ground, freezing fellows with stray shots, warping plants or fallen comrades.

I am become Death, I have no other purpose. The Angel of Death has manifested itself, in the form of a single human officer, chopping, stabbing, shooting, crashing, beating, mashing, twisting, jumping.

Now my armor is starting to lose integrity. I no longer have the help of the hyperoxygenation system, now lactic acid burns in muscles that have been overworked these past few hours, but still I press my attack.

What are weak legs and muscle cramps next to the opportunity to grow from a child into an adult and not be brutally torn from this world, such as my sisters had been back on Mindoir?

What is a cut in the face or a bullet in the shoulder next to a happy future with one's sweetheart, a future I may never see myself, thanks to a batarian sniper back on Mindoir?

What is a gash or a laceration next to the opportunity to simply say "I love you" or "I forgive you" one, a hundred, a thousand times more?

What is a leaden arm, shaking with exhaustion and recoil absorption, next to a hundred thousand of these everyday stories?

So I press on, I ignore the sharp, biting stings of the bullets, the raw aches of fatigue, the dull pains of impacts, the intimate agony of blade and metal kissing flesh.

Now I lease my war cry, stealth unheeded. I hear a familiar set of syllables, where is it coming from? _Jess! Jess! _Its not from me, it cannot be from me. These slime have no right to use that name!

It is said that the human body can normally only use close to a third of its potential. However, in cases of emergency, the body can temporarily increase its potential, allowing mothers to lift hovercars off their children, or climbers to throw granite that pins them.

The pistol had burned out, I had thrown it into the eyes of a batarian commander. I punched a turian so hard, my fist crushed his mandibles. My body was operating at 100% capacity, devoted entirely to breaking this line.

I wore the blood of hundreds of men, my armor more of an undershirt to the tuxedo of blood in the mortal dance I had found myself invited to.

My boot goes through the gut of a salarian. I grab him and swing him, oversize feet becoming grisly maces.

Releasing him, I scream and break a krogan's neck with my bare hands, twisting with such force, his crest comes off into my hand.

The crest is thrown. Slicing into the amorphous body of a hanar, and resting in an asari's gut.

I jump onto an elcor, rip his cannon from its mount and turn it on him.

Nothing matters anymore. Just the dance of death and finding as many partners as I could.

**Elysium, 1****st**** -4****th**** Regional Combat Regiment Compound, 0430 Local Time**

"Is he..."

"There's no way he did _all _of this. That's just not possible!"

"No! That's _Shepard! _There's no way he could have died!"

"Fiske, shut up. Bob, get the camera rolling."

Voices.

Voices_ bad_. Voices _enemy_.

This alone allows my battered, savaged, burned, spent body up, using the rifle as support.

"Oh my God! He's getting up!"

"Shepard! Shepard! _Shepard!_ Its Fiske! You know, PFC in the 4th?"

This one is a human. He is a _traitor_ to be working with the _bad._

But something stays my hand. Numbers, letters... _Fiske. Thats familiar. PFC. That's... good. 4__th__. Mine._

I realize then that the killing part is over, for me at least. With the last erg of strength I have, I choke out, "Fiske, medic dammit..."

**Post Scriptum: **

**Reviews mandatory.**

**For the next part of Matt Shepard's adventures, read Fidelis ad Mortem: Astraque: Heros Gnascori**

**Latin terms or phrases that have not been immediately translated:**

**Fidelis ad Mortem Astraque: Faithful to death and the heavens beyond**

**Elementum: Origin**

**Transcendens: Rising**

**Exercitium: Training regimen**

**Semper Paratus?: Always Prepared?**

**Fames Proelii: Battle lust**


End file.
